Nasmyth’s dinner was over and he lay, pipe in hand, in an easy-chair in his smoking-room, with Lisle lounging opposite him. They had been walking up partridges among the higher turnip fields all day, and now both were pleasantly tired and filled with languid good-humor. Nasmyth’s house was old—it had been built out of the remains of a Border pele—and the room was paneled to the ceiling and very simply furnished. It had an ancient look and an ancient smell, and the few articles of plain oak furniture harmonized with it. The window stood wide open, and the fragrance of a grove of silver firs outside drifted in. The surroundings had their effect on Lisle, who had not been accustomed to dwellings of that kind.
“You have been here a fortnight and must have formed a few opinions about us,” Nasmyth remarked at length. “You needn’t be shy about expressing them, and I’ve no doubt there are things you’d like to ask.”
“As a whole, my opinion’s highly favorable,” Lisle announced with a smile. “I’d be uncommonly hard to please if it weren’t.”
“That’s flattering. But I’m not sure that I meant as a whole; I had a few particular instances in my mind. Bella Crestwick, for example; I’m curious to hear what you think of her. She seems quite favorably impressed with you.”
“She’s interesting,” Lisle replied. “A type that’s new to me; the latest development, isn’t it? Anyway, I like her—whatever the admission’s worth—though I must say that I found her rather startling at first. She’s honest, I think, and that counts for a good deal.”
“I suppose you’re not aware that she’s desirably rich?”
“I wasn’t. It’s not a fact of any moment to me. Besides, I’ve a suspicion that it’s Gladwyne’s scalp she’s after.”
Nasmyth nodded.
“You’re pretty shrewd. Though I’ve had much greater opportunities for observation, that idea has only lately occurred to me. Of course, in a general way, I shouldn’t discuss my acquaintances in this casual fashion, but as you are likely to see a good deal of us there are things you’d better know.”
“I’ll explain my point of view,” said Lisle, refilling his pipe. “You have seen something of the kind of life I’ve led. Half my time, I suppose, has been spent in primeval surroundings; the rest in contact with the latest efforts of a rather unfinished civilization. Well, what you have to show me here is vastly different. These old houses, your smoothed-down ways, are a revelation to me. The polish on some of your furniture has taken several hundred years to put on; that in my Victoria quarters smells of the factory, and the board walls of other hotels I’ve lived in rend into big cracks because they’re fresh from the mill. I’m full of interest; everything’s new to me. But so far my curiosity’s impersonal; I’m taking no hand in anything.”
His companion’s face grew grave.
“The trouble is that you may not be able to avoid it later. You’re here, and some part will probably be forced on you. However, as I said, I think you’re right about Bella.”
“But her money would be no great inducement to Gladwyne.”
“That’s not certain. Clarence has a way of squandering money, and you may as well understand that there’s very little to be derived from agricultural property. George had his mother’s money, but he left it to Millicent; Clarence got only the land. That’s what made a match between them seem so desirable.”
“Desirable!” Lisle broke out. “It’s impossible! Not to be contemplated!”
“Yes,” Nasmyth agreed quietly. “If necessary, it will have to be prevented. I was only stating popular opinion.”
There was something curious in his tone and Lisle looked hard at him. Their eyes met full for a moment and the thoughts of each were clear to the other.
“If anything must be done, it will fall to you,” Nasmyth went on. “In this case it would be particularly invidious for me to interfere. But, if there had been nobody else, I’d have broken off the match.”
Lisle made no comment, but there was comprehension and sympathy in his expression, and Nasmyth nodded.
“Yes,” he acknowledged; “it’s an open secret that I would have looked for nothing better than to marry Millicent Gladwyne.” He paused with a slight flush creeping into his bronzed face. “For all that, I knew some years ago that I hadn’t the faintest chance and never would have. I have her confidence and friendship; that has to be enough.”
“I think it’s a good deal,” said Lisle.
There was silence for a minute or two, and then Lisle asked a question:
“How could a girl like Millicent Gladwyne ever contemplate the possibility of marrying Clarence?”
“It’s puzzling to me. These things often are to outsiders. Still, Clarence is a handsome man, and I think George was in favor of the match, which would count with her. Then, in a way, she was always fond of Clarence, and now that she has the money and he’s far from prospering on the land, the idea that she could set him firmly on his feet by sharing her possessions with him may prove tempting. It’s very much the sort of thing that would appeal to her.”
“You suggest that she isn’t strongly attached to the man.”
“I really believe she isn’t; but, for all that, I’m sometimes afraid she’ll end by marrying him. It’s very probable that she suspects some of his faults, but I’m not sure they’d deter her. It would make her more compassionate, believing it was her duty to help him—that kind of thing’s an old delusion. Still, to do the fellow justice, he hasn’t of late shown much eagerness to profit by his opportunities.”
Lisle mused for a few moments. It struck him that Nasmyth had described a very fine type of woman, which was quite in accordance with his own ideas of Miss Gladwyne.
“What led Gladwyne to cultivate Marple and the Crestwicks?” he asked. “They’re different from the rest of you.”
“I can’t say. It’s a point I’ve wondered about, though Marple and his rather rowdy friends are prosperous. I can better see why they got hold of Clarence.”
“I don’t see it,” responded Lisle. “Remember I’m an unsophisticated stranger in search of information. If they’ve means enough, can’t they associate with whom they like?”
Nasmyth smiled, but there was a trace of diffidence in his manner.
“In a way, you’re right; but there are limits, more particularly in such a place as this. The counties, I’m sometimes thankful, don’t keep pace with London. It’s a little difficult to explain, but we’re old-fashioned and possibly prejudiced here. Anyhow, we exercise a certain amount of caution in the choice of our friends.”
“But Mrs. Gladwyne seems cordial to the people you object to, and one would imagine that she’s the embodiment of your best traditions, a worthy representative of the old régime.”
“Mrs. Gladwyne is a remarkably fine lady, but it’s unfortunate that she’s a little deaf and—it must be owned—not particularly intelligent. A good deal of what goes on escapes her. Besides, she has always idolized Clarence, and that would account for her not seeing his friends’ failings.”
“It’s curious that Gladwyne makes so much of that young Crestwick.”
“I’ve wondered about it,” Nasmyth confessed. “The lad’s vicious—and I’ve an idea that the influence Clarence has over him isn’t beneficial. In fact, I’m sorry for his sister. She has been given her head too young, but, in my opinion, the girl’s the pick of a very indifferent bunch.”
“But you haven’t accounted for these people’s desire to be on good terms with Gladwyne.”
Nasmyth hesitated.
“Oh, well, since you’re so persistent, the Crestwicks have evidently been left with ample means, acquired by their parents, not much education, and big ambitions. They can get into certain circles, but that won’t content them, and other doors, which Gladwyne can open to them, are shut. After all, he’s a good sportsman, a man of some culture, with a manner that’s likely to impress such people. The lad’s holding on to him and taking his worst aspect for a copy, while Clarence seems willing to extend his patronage.”
“For some consideration?”
Nasmyth looked disturbed.
“It’s unpleasant, but I can’t help feeling that you’re right. One way or another, young Crestwick will have to pay his entrance fees.” He rose and stretched himself lazily. “I’ll spoil my temper if I say any more about it, and as we’ve had a long day I’m off to bed.”
Lisle followed him from the room, but he was up early the next morning and strolled down to the river while the light was creeping across the moors and the dew lay thick upon the grass, thinking over what he had heard on the previous night. It was his nature to be interested in almost everything and he was curious to learn what he could of the people to whom his father had belonged. In Canada he had, for the most part, met only men of somewhat primitive habits and simple desires, grappling with rock and forest, or with single purpose toiling to acquire wealth in the new cities. What was more to the purpose, few of them were married. Now he was thrown among a people not more intelligent—indeed, he thought they were less endowed with practically useful knowledge—but in some respects more complex, actuated by different and less obvious ambitions and desires. He felt impelled to watch them, though he recognized that, as Nasmyth had predicted, this might not be all. It was possible that sooner or later he would be drawn into action.
He reached the stream at a spot where it flowed, still and clear, beneath a birch wood. A few of the leaves were green, but most of them gleamed a delicate saffron among the gray and silver stems, and the ground beneath was flecked with yellow. Behind the trees rough, lichened rock and stony slopes ran up to a bare ridge, silhouetted against the roseate glow of the morning sky. The sun had not risen, the water lay in shadow; it was very quiet and rather cold, and Lisle was surprised to see Millicent Gladwyne picking her way cautiously over a bank of stones. It was only her movements that betrayed her, for her neutral-tinted attire harmonized with the background; but when she caught sight of him she left the foot of the slope she was skirting and came directly toward him. He thought she looked wonderfully fresh and wholesome, and he noticed that she carried a small camera.
“I’m afraid you have spoiled my sport,” she laughed. “I was after an otter—though you mustn’t tell Nasmyth that there is one about here.”
“Certainly not,” acquiesced Lisle. “But why?”
“He would consider it his duty to bring up the hounds the next meet. Isn’t it curious how slaughter appeals to a man? But Nasmyth isn’t unreasonable; there are reserves in which even the jays he longs to shoot have sanctuary.”
“But you were looking for an otter?”
“Yes; I wanted its picture, not its life. I’ve got several, but I’m not satisfied; though I’ve been lucky lately. I got a dabchick—they’re growing scarce—not long ago.”
“We’ll try the next pool, if you’ll let me come,” suggested Lisle. “I’m pretty good at trailing. But what do you want with their pictures?”
“For my book,” she told him. “I have to make ever so many drawings in color before I get them right. If you’re fond of the wild creatures, I’ll show them to you.”
Lisle said that he would be delighted, and they went on, keeping back among tall brushwood where they skirted the swift stream at the head of the pool, and then proceeding cautiously with the outline of their figures softened by the heathy slopes behind. At length, creeping up through a thin growth of alders, they stopped near another still reach and the girl pointed to a few floating objects on its surface.
“You’re good at trailing or they’d have taken fright,” she said. “Still, I think I will surprise you, if you will wait here.”
“Mallard,” Lisle commented. “Young birds—even where we seldom disturb them, they’re shy.”
She slipped away through the alders and he noticed how little noise she made, though the lower branches here and there brushed against her gliding form. She was wonderfully light and graceful in her movements. As she came out into the open there was a startled quack or two from the birds. Lisle expected to see them rise from the water, but she called softly and, to his vast astonishment, they ceased paddling away from her. She called again and they turned and swam cautiously toward her, and when she took a handful of something from a pocket and flung it upon the surface of the stream, three or four heads were stretched forward to seize the morsels.
While the birds drew nearer Lisle looked on admiring. She had roused his interest when he had first seen her in her rich evening dress, but now he thought she made a far more striking picture, and her sympathy with the timid wild creatures which evidently knew and trusted her awakened something responsive in him. Half the pool now glimmered in the rosy light, with here and there an alder branch reflected upon its mirror-like surface, and Millicent stood on a strip of gravel with her figure clearly outlined against it. Dressed in closely-fitting, soft-colored tweed, tall and finely symmetrical, she harmonized with rock and flood wonderfully well. Lisle had occasionally seen a bush rancher’s daughter, armed with gun or fishing-rod, look very much at home in similar surroundings; but this English lady, of culture and station, reared in civilized luxury, appeared equally in her right place.
He afterward recollected each adjunct of the scene—the stillness, the pale gleam of the water, and the aromatic smell of fallen leaves, but the alluring, central figure formed the sharpest memory. By and by she clapped her hands, the ducks rose and flew away up-stream with necks stretched out, and she came back toward him, laughing softly.
“Sometimes they will come almost up to my feet; but I’m afraid it’s hardly fair to inspire them with an undue confidence in human nature. It might cost them dear.”
“You’re wonderful!” Lisle exclaimed, expressing what he felt, for she seemed to him endowed with every gracious quality.
“Oh,” she smiled, “there’s nothing really remarkable in what I showed you. I happened to find the nest and by slow degrees disarmed the mother bird’s suspicions; mallard have been domesticated, you know, though they’re often hard to get very near. But we may as well turn back; it’s now too late to see an otter. I’m inclined to think they’re the shyest of all the British wild creatures.”
They moved away down-stream side by side, and some time later she left him where a stile-path crossed a meadow.
“Come and see my drawings whenever you like,” she said on parting.
Lisle determined to go as soon as possible. Quite apart from the drawings, the idea of going had its attractions for him, and he walked homeward determined that this girl should never marry Clarence Gladwyne. It was unthinkable—that was the only word for it.
It was early in the afternoon when Lisle arrived at Millicent’s house and, after a glance at its quaint exterior, was ushered into her drawing-room. There he sat down and looked about while he waited. The salient tones of its decoration were white and aqueous blue, and the effect struck him as pleasantly chaste and cool. Among the rather mixed ornaments were a couple of marble statuettes, the figures airily poised and very finely wrought. Next, he noticed some daintily carved objects in ivory, and a picture in water-color of a wide, gray stretch of moor with distance and solitude skilfully conveyed. He had risen to examine it when Millicent entered.
“I’m glad you came, though, as you’re used to the life of the woods and rivers, I’m a little diffident about showing you my sketches,” she said. “I’m afraid I’ve kept you waiting.”
Lisle smiled and she liked the candidly humorous gleam in his eyes.
“Nasmyth warned me that I was early—or rather he said that if I were going to visit anybody else I would have been too soon. I’d better confess, however, that I’ve been making a good use of the time. Things of this kind”—he indicated the statuettes—“are almost new to me. They strike me as unusually fine.”
“Yes,” she answered, realizing that he had an artistic eye, “they are beautiful—and one sees so many that are not. George brought them from Italy for me. This”—she moved toward a representation in ivory of a Mogul gateway—“is of course a different style, but it’s remarkable in its patient elaboration of detail. The mosque’s not so fine. Nasmyth sent me the pair from India; he once made a trip to the fringe of the Himalayas.”
Lisle examined the object carefully, and she waited with some interest for his comment.
“It’s wonderful,” he declared. “I suppose it’s a truthful copy?”
“I’m inclined to think the man who carved that had not the gift of imagination. He merely reproduced faithfully what he saw.”
“Different peoples have strikingly different ways, haven’t they?” commented Lisle. “While they were making that small Eastern arch, we’d fling up a thriving wooden town or build a hotel of steel and cement to hold a thousand guests. The biggest bridges that carry our great freight-trains across the roaring gorges in the Rockies cost less labor.”
“I should imagine it. What then?”
He studied the carved ivory.
“In a dry climate the original of this would last for centuries—it has lasted since the days of the Moguls—an object of beauty for generations to enjoy. Perhaps those old builders used their time as well as we do. Our works serve their purpose, but one can’t call them pretty.”
She was pleased with his answer.
“I think that gets the strongest hold on me,” he went on, glancing toward the picture of the moor; “it’s real!”
There was a hint of diffidence in Millicent’s expression.
“But you can hardly judge, can you? You have scarcely seen the English moors.”
“I’ve spent a while on the high Albertan plains, and you have the same things yonder; the vast sweep of sky, the rolling waste running on forever. It’s all in that picture; how expressed, I don’t know—there are only the grades of color, scarcely a line to gage the distance by. Still, the sense of space is vivid.”
Millicent blushed.
“You’re an indulgent critic; that drawing is my own.”
He did not appear embarrassed, though she saw that he had not suspected the fact. She had already noticed that when he might, perhaps, have looked awkward he only looked serious.
“After what you have said,” she resumed, “I’ll show you the other things with greater confidence. Do you know, I thought all you Western people were grimly utilitarian?”
He sat down and considered this. The man could laugh readily, but he was also characterized by a certain gravity, which she found refreshing by contrast with the light glibness to which she was more accustomed.
“Well,” he reasoned, “in my opinion, the white man’s greatest superiority over all other peoples is his capacity for making useful things—even if they’re only ugly sawmills or grimy locomotives. Philosophy never fed any one or lightened anybody’s toil; commerce is a convenience, but the man who makes a big profit out of it is only levying a heavy toll on somebody else. It seems to me that all our actual benefits come from the constructor.”
“Have you been building sawmills?” Millicent asked mischievously.
He laughed with open good-humor. “Oh, no; that’s why I’m free to talk. I happened to find a lode with some gold in it, and gold is only a handy means of exchanging things. I’ll own that I was probably doing more useful work when I stood up to my waist in ice-water, fitting sharp stones into a pulp-mill dam.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” Millicent agreed, “but it sounds severe. What of the people who never do anything directly useful at all?”
“There are a few who, by just going up and down in it, keep the world sweet and clean. Some of the rest could very well be spared.”
“Then you believe that everybody must practically justify his existence?”
“If he fails to do so with us, his existence generally ceases. The wilderness where I found the gold is full of the bones of the unfit.”
Millicent spread out some drawings. Most were in color, in some cases several of the same object, done with patient care, and she was strangely pleased when she saw the quick appreciation in his eyes.
“An otter; it’s alive,” he remarked. “You’ve shown it working through a shallow, looking much less like an animal than a fish—that’s right.”
“I made half a dozen sketches, and I’m not satisfied yet.”
“Thorough,” he commented. “You get there, if you have to hammer the heart out of whatever you’re up against.”
“It’s my brother’s book,” she answered. “I’m finishing it for him. He did other things—most of them useful, indirectly. I’ve only this—and I’d like my part to be good.”
He nodded sympathetically, looking troubled.
“I can understand,” he said. “I had a partner—I owe him more than I could ever have repaid, and he left a troublesome piece of work to me. It will have to be put through. But let me see some more; they’re great.”
She showed him a red jay; a tiny gold-crest perched on a thorn branch; a kingfisher gleaming with turquoise hues, poised ready for a dive upon a froth-lapped stone. He was no cultured critic, but he knew the ways of the wild creatures and saw that she had talent, for her representations of them were instinct with life.
They were interrupted by a scratching at the door and when she opened it a white setter hobbled awkwardly in and curled itself at her feet.
“He’s rather a big dog for the house, but I can’t keep him away from me,” she explained. “As you see, he has lost a foot, in a trap, and he was marked for destruction when I asked for him. Sometimes I think he knows that I saved his life.”
The dog looked up and raising a paw scraped at her hand, until she opened it, when he thrust his chin into her palm. It was a trivial incident, but it somehow stirred the man.
“Now I know where you got power to draw these lesser brethren,” he said. “Study alone would never have given it to you.”
She let this pass. He was almost embarrassing in his directness, though she acquitted him of any crude intention of flattering her.
“I promised to let you read my brother’s diary,” she reminded him. “If you will wait a few moments, I’ll get it.”
The dog pattered after her, as though unwilling to remain out of her sight, and she came back presently with a small leather case and opening it took out a tattered notebook. Noticing how she handled it and that the case was beautifully made, Lisle fancied that it was precious to her, in which he was correct. Indeed, she was then wondering why she had volunteered to show it to this stranger when only two of her intimate friends had seen it.
“Thank you,” he said, when she gave it to him; and drawing his chair nearer the window he began to read.
Though he was already acquainted with most of it, the story gripped him. On the surface, it was merely a plain record of a hazardous and laborious journey; but to one gifted with understanding it was more than this—a vivid narrative of a struggle waged against physical suffering, weakness, and hunger, by optimistic human nature. An odd word here, a line or two in another place, was eloquent of simple, steadfast courage and endurance; and even when the weakening man clearly knew that his end was near there was no outbreak of desperation or sign of faltering. He had dragged himself onward to the last, indomitable.
Then Lisle proceeded to examine the book more closely. It showed the effects of exposure to the weather to an unusual degree, considering that the covers were thick and that the rescue party had recovered it shortly after its owner’s death. Moreover, Lisle did not think that George Gladwyne would have left it in the snow. Several pages were missing, and having been over the ground, he knew that they recorded the part of the journey during which the two caches of provisions had been made, and he had already decided that there would be a list of their contents. This conclusion was confirmed by the fact that Gladwyne had enumerated the stores they started with, and had once or twice made a reduced list when they had afterward taken stock. The abstraction of the records was clearly Clarence’s work. Then he realized that he had spent some time in perusing the diary and he handed it back to Millicent with something that implied a respect for it. She noticed the sparkle in his eyes and her heart warmed toward him.
“It’s the greatest story I’ve ever read,” he declared.
She made no answer, but he knew that she was pleased and it filled him with a wish to tell her that she was very much like her dead brother. More he could not have said, but remembering that he had already gone as far as was permissible he had sense enough to repress the inclination. He saw the girl’s lips close firmly, as if she were conscious of some emotion, but there was silence for a minute or two. He broke it at length.
“I know that you have granted me a very great privilege, and I’m grateful,” he told her, and added, because he thought a partial change of the subject might be considerate: “In a way, it’s hard to realize that tale in this restful place. It’s easier out yonder, where what you could call the general tone is different.”
“Nasmyth once said something like that,” Millicent replied. “I suppose the change is marked.”
Lisle nodded.
“Here you have order, peace, security. In the wilds, it’s all battle, the survival of the strong; frost and ice rending the solid hills, rivers scoring out deep ravines, beast destroying beast, or struggling with starvation. Man’s not exempt either; a small blunder—a deer missed or a flour bag lost—may cost him his life. For the difference you have to thank the constructor, the maker of plows and spades and more complex machines.”
“That’s one of your pet hobbies, isn’t it?”
He once more changed the subject.
“I wish that I could show you the wilderness,” he said.
Millicent looked thoughtful.
“I should like to see it. I’ve an idea that if this book is well received I might, perhaps, try something a little more ambitious—the larger beasts and wilder birds of other countries. In that case, I should choose British Columbia.”
“Then you will let me be your guide?”
She made a conditional promise, and shortly afterward he left her. Meeting Nasmyth he walked with him toward Gladwyne’s house, where they found the guests assembled on the lawn and Mrs. Gladwyne sitting by a tea-table. One or two young women were standing near and several men had gathered about a mat laid upon the grass fifty yards from where a small target had been set up. Lisle joined Bella Crestwick, who detached herself from the others.
“What is this?” he asked. “It’s a very short range.”
“Miniature rifle shooting,” she informed him. “It’s becoming popular. Gladwyne has been trying to form a club. My brother Jim is president of some league. He’s rather keen and there are reasons why I’m glad of it.”
She added the last words confidentially and Lisle ventured to nod. It struck him that a healthy interest in any organized work or amusement would be beneficial to young Crestwick. The girl looked at him, as if considering something; and then she seemed to make up her mind.
“There’s one thing I don’t like,” she complained. “They will shoot for high stakes. Jim isn’t a bad shot, but he’s too eager. I’m afraid he’s inclined to be venturesome just now.”
Lisle thought that she had a request to make. There was something about him that inspired confidence, and the girl had made a friend of him.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked.
She made a sign of impatience; he was too direct. “Oh,” she pouted, “aren’t you taking a good deal for granted? Still, you bushmen can shoot, can’t you?”
“As a rule,” Lisle answered. “I almost think I see.”
“Then,” she retorted, “you shouldn’t have said so; you should merely have smiled and acted.”
“I’m from the wilds; you mustn’t expect too much. Well, if you’ll excuse me.”
She flashed a grateful glance at him, and he sauntered toward the group of men, among whom Gladwyne stood. There was a sharp crack as he approached them, a thin streak of smoke drifted across the figure lying on the mat, and a man beside it lowered the glasses he held.
“High to the left,” he announced. “You’re not in good form, Jim. Hadn’t you better give up?”
Lisle studied the speaker, whom he had met once or twice already. He was approaching middle-age and was inclined to corpulence, but there was something in his pose that suggested a military training. His face was fleshy, but the features were bold and he was coarsely handsome. As a rule, he affected an easy good-humor, but Lisle had felt that there was something about him which he could best describe as predatory. He occasionally spoke of business ties, so he had an occupation, but he had not in Lisle’s hearing mentioned what it was.
Crestwick’s face was hot as he answered his remark.
“Not at all, Batley. The trouble is that I’m used to the Roberts target, and the spots on the card are puzzling after the rings. I’ll get into it presently.”
“Oh, well,” acquiesced the other. “As you didn’t fix a time limit, we’ll go on again, though it’s getting tame and I want some tea.”
“I’ll increase the interest again, if you like,” the lad replied.
Lisle joined the group.
“What’s it all about?” he asked.
“Batley’s a pretty good rifle shot, but if he won’t mind my saying so he’s a little opinionated,” Gladwyne explained. “Crestwick questioned an idea of his, and the end of it was that Batley offered to prove his point—that a stiff pull-off is as good as a light one in practised hands—by backing himself to beat the field. Crestwick took him up, and since the rest of us were obviously out of it, the thing has resolved itself into a match between the two. Crestwick is using an easy-triggered rifle; Batley’s has an unusually hard spring.”
Lisle considered. Remembering Bella’s remarks, he thought it would be easy to lure the lad into a rash bet. He was headstrong and his manners might have been more conciliatory, but Lisle, learning the amount of the stakes, decided that his host should not have let the thing go so far.
“Crestwick doubled several times; he’s stubborn and doesn’t like to be beaten,” Gladwyne resumed. “I had the same ideas when I was as young as he is.”
“I’ve offered to let him off,” Batley broke in. “I’d do so now only he’s kept me shooting for the last half-hour. As Gladwyne says, he’s obstinate, and it’s a pity that he’s wrong. If he’d trained his wrist-tendons by using a harder trigger, he’d have made a passably good shot.”
Lisle was aware that while there was something to be said for Batley’s view, Crestwick was justified in contending that the lighter tension was more adapted to the case of the average person; but he recognized that the indulgent manner of the older men was calculated, he thought intentionally, to exasperate the hot-headed lad.
“Well,” he observed, addressing Batley, “you have the courage of your convictions if you have offered to maintain them against all comers, which I understand is what you have done.”
The man nodded carelessly and Lisle went on:
“After all, since I dare say these gentlemen are more used to the shotgun, your superiority doesn’t prove very much.”
Crestwick looked around at him quickly.
“Most of you Colonials can use the rifle; do you feel inclined to take him on? You’re a dark horse, but I’ll double the stakes if he’ll throw you in.”
This was what Lisle wanted, but he turned to the others.
“I’ve never had a small rifle in my hands—we use the 44-70, and I must leave you to decide whether my shooting would be fair to Mr. Batley. In that case, I’ll put up half the stakes.”
The men said there was no reason why he should not join, and Batley made no protest, though Lisle fancied that he was not pleased. Lying down on the mat, he took the light-springed rifle and the six cartridges handed him and fixed his eyes on the target, which was a playing-card pinned to a thick plank. He got the first shot off before he was quite ready—the light pull was new to him—and somebody called that he had touched the left top corner. The next shot was down at the bottom, and the four following marks were scattered about the card. When he got up, Batley looked reassured and proceeded to make a neat pattern around the center of another card. There was no doubt that Crestwick was anxious, and when he took his turn he shot badly. In the meanwhile, the rest of the party on the lawn had gradually gathered round; the eager attitude of the original spectators hinted that something out of the usual course was going on.
Lisle was very cool when he lay down again. A swift, encouraging glance from Bella Crestwick made him determined, and during his previous six shots he had, he thought, learned the right tension on the trigger.
“Wipe it out for me, somebody,” he said, holding up the rifle.
Bella seized it and deftly used the rod, regardless of soiled fingers.
“May it bring you luck,” she wished, with a defiant glance at Batley, who smiled at her as she returned the weapon.
Then there was a hush of expectancy. Lisle took his time; a sharp crack, a streak of smoke, and Gladwyne raising his glasses, laughed.
“High!” he called. “Top spot!”
It was a three of hearts, and Gladwyne’s smile lingered for a moment after Lisle fired again.
“Bottom now; you’re low!” he cried, and then his expression slightly changed. Both spots were drilled out—this did not look altogether like an accident.
“Center!” he announced after another shot, and all the faces surrounding him became intent. The three hearts were neatly punched.
“A fresh card!” exclaimed Crestwick, looking around at Batley with an exultant sparkle in his eyes. “You offered to let me off. Shall I return the compliment?”
The man laughed carelessly, though Lisle thought it cost him an effort.
“No,” he retorted; “I can’t show myself less of a sportsman than you are; but I think I’ve the option of demanding a longer range. Move the mat back twenty-five yards and put up an ace of spades; it’s the plainest. Three shots each should suffice at the distance.”
Crestwick got down and thrice touched the outside of the card; Batley did better, for two shots broke the edge of the black and one was close above them. It was good shooting at so small a mark, and Lisle was a little anxious as he very deliberately stretched himself out on the mat. Having little of the gambler’s instinct in his nature, he was reluctant to lose the money at stake, but he was more unwilling to let Batley fleece the lad whom, as he recognized now, he had been asked to aid. He meant to do so, if the thing were possible, and twice he paused and relaxed his grip when his sight grew slightly blurred.
Then there was a sharp crack, and he smiled when he heard Gladwyne’s report.
“I can’t see it. These are only opera-glasses.”
Dead silence followed the next shot, which left no visible mark on the target; and Lisle did not look around as he thrust his last cartridge into the rifle. He let it lie beside him for half a minute while he opened and shut his right hand, and then, taking it up quickly, fired. Still there was no blur on the white surface of the card and Gladwyne sharply shut his glasses, while two of the onlookers ran toward the target. They came back in silence and one significantly held up the ace. There were three small holes in the black center.
Gladwyne had turned away when Lisle got up, but Batley concealed his feelings very well.
“Excellent!” he exclaimed. “As I can’t beat that, the only thing left me is to pay up.”
Lisle turned to Crestwick, who looked hot and excited.
“You made the bet,” he said. “Will you use my half in buying a competition cup for one of your clubs?”
He saw Batley’s smile and a somewhat curious look in Gladwyne’s face, but the group broke up and he strolled back across the lawn with Bella.
“I’m grateful,” she said softly. “I was a little afraid at first that I was asking too much of you.”
Lisle met her glance with a good assumption of surprise.
“Grateful? Because I indulged in a rather enjoyable match?”
She laughed.
“You learn rapidly. But I’d better say in excuse that I didn’t think I’d involved you in a very serious risk. He hasn’t your eyes and hands—one couldn’t expect it. You don’t need pick-me-ups in the morning, do you?”
Lisle was slightly embarrassed. This girl’s knowledge of life was too extensive, and he would have preferred that she should exhibit it to somebody else.
“Well,” she concluded as they approached the tea-table, “my thanks are yours, even if you don’t value them.”
“What do you expect me to say?” he asked, regarding her with some amusement and appreciation. She was alluringly pretty in her rather elaborate light dress.
“Yes,” she smiled mockingly, disregarding his question; “these things become me better than the tweeds, don’t they? They make one look nice and soft and fluffy; but that’s deceptive. You see, I can scratch; in fact, I felt I could have scratched Batley badly if I’d got the chance. There’s another hint for you—make what you like of it.”
Then with a laugh she swung round and left him, puzzled.
The little room in Marple’s house, where the Crestwicks were staying, was hot and partly filled with cigar smoke which drifted in filmy streaks athwart the light of the green-shaded hanging-lamp. Lisle sat beneath the lamp, studying the cards in his hand, until he leaned back in his chair and flung a glance about the table. There were no counters on it, but Gladwyne had just noted something in a little book and was waiting with a languid smile upon his handsome face. Next to him sat Batley, looking thoughtful; and Crestwick sat opposite Lisle, eager and unhealthily flushed. His forehead showed damp in the lamplight and there was an unpleasant glitter in his eyes. It was close on to midnight and luck had gone hard against him during the past hour, half of which Lisle had spent in his company. This had cost Lisle more money than he was willing to part with.
“It’s getting late,” he said with a yawn. “After this hand, I’ll drop out; I dare say one of the other two will take my place. Crestwick, I believe your sister and Miss Leslie will be waiting. You’re going with them, aren’t you?”
The lad, turning in his chair, reached toward a near-by table on which there were bottles and siphons, and took a glass from it. He had been invited to join a shooting party at a house in the neighborhood and was to spend the night there.
“Oh!” he exclaimed with some irritation; “Bella’s always in such an unreasonable hurry. The others can’t be going yet. I think I hear Flo Marple singing.”
A voice from somewhere below reached them through the open door. It was a good voice, but the words were a silly jingle and the humor in them could not be considered delicate. Lisle, glancing at Gladwyne, noticed his slight frown, but one of the two young men lounging by the second table watching the game hummed the refrain with an appreciative smile upon his heavy and somewhat fatuous face.
“They’ll take half an hour to get ready,” declared Batley. “Better play out this round, anyhow.”
They laid down their cards in turn and then Crestwick noisily thrust his chair back.
“Another knock-out!” he exclaimed savagely. “I don’t like to get up so far behind. Shall we double on another deal?”
“As you like,” returned Batley. “You’re plucky, considering the cards you’ve had; but if Fortune’s fickle, she’s supposed to favor a determined suitor.”
It was innocent enough, but Lisle fancied that there was sufficient flattery in the speech to incite the headstrong lad, who had now emptied the glass at his hand. He remembered that on another occasion when there had been a good deal at stake, Batley had played on Crestwick’s feelings, though in a slightly different manner. Whether or not the young man lost more than he could afford was, in one way, no concern of Lisle’s, and he did not find him in the least attractive; but half an hour previously Bella had met him in the hall and had hinted, with a troubled look, that she would appreciate it if he could get her brother away. It was this that accounted for the Canadian’s presence in the card-room.
“I’m going, anyway,” he said, taking out some notes and gold and laying them down. “There has been a smart shower and you had better remember that Miss Leslie walked over—the roads will be wet. As you know, I promised to take the girls back in Nasmyth’s trap, and he won’t thank me if I keep his groom up.”
Crestwick grumbled and hesitated, and he grew rather red in face as he turned to Batley.
“I’ve only these two notes,” he explained. “Expected all along I’d pull up even. Will you arrange things? See you about it when I come back.”
Batley nodded carelessly, and the lad stood up, looking irresolutely at the table.
“Fact is,” he went on, “I’d like to get straight before I go. I’m in pretty heavy for one night; another round might do something to set me straight.”
“Gladwyne and I are quite willing to give you your chance,” was Batley’s quick reply; but Lisle unceremoniously laid his hand on Crestwick’s shoulder.
“Come along,” he urged, laughing. “Luck’s against you; you’ve had quite enough.”
He had the lad out of the door in another moment, and looking back from the landing he saw a curious look in Gladwyne’s face which he thought was one of disgust. Batley, however, was frowning openly; and the two men’s expressions had a meaning for him. He was inclined to wonder whether he had used force too ostensibly in ejecting the lad; but, after all, that did not very much matter—his excuse was good enough. As they went down the stairs, Crestwick turned to him, hot and angry.
“It strikes me you’re pretty officious! Never saw you until two or three weeks ago,” he muttered. “Not accustomed to being treated in that offhand manner. It’s Colonial, I suppose!”
“Sorry,” Lisle apologized with a smile. “I’ve an idea that you’ll be grateful when you cool off. You’ve been going it pretty strong to-night.”
“That’s true,” agreed the other with a show of pride. “Kept on raising them; made things lively!”
“Found it expensive, didn’t you?” Lisle suggested; and as they reached the foot of the stairs he led his companion toward the door. “Suppose we take a turn along the terrace before we look for your sister.”
Crestwick went with him, but presently he stopped and leaned on the low wall.
“Do you ever feel inclined for a flutter on the stock-market?” he inquired. “There’s a thing Batley put me on to—there’ll be developments in a month or two; it’s going to a big premium. Let you have a hundred shares at par. Rather in a hole, temporarily.”
Lisle had no intention of buying the stock, but he asked a few questions. It appeared that it had been issued by a new company formed to grow coffee and rubber in the tropics.
“No,” he said; “a deal of that kind is out of my line. Why not sell them through a broker and get your full profit?”
“It would take some days,” answered the other. “Besides, they won’t move up until the directors let things out at the next meeting. Something of that kind, anyway; I forget—Batley explained it.” He paused and added irritably: “Believe I told you I’m in a hole.”
“You must meet your losses and don’t know how to manage it?”
Lisle was curious and had no diffidence about putting the question, though the lad was obviously off his guard.
“I can raise the money right enough—Batley’ll see to that; but I’d sooner do it another way. The interest’s high enough to make one think, and in this case I’m paying it on money he’s putting into his pocket.”
There was a good deal to be inferred from this reply, but Lisle considered before he spoke again.
“You’re twenty-one, aren’t you?” he asked.
“Yes,” assented the lad, “but the trustees keep hold until I’m twenty-four.”
He turned with quick suspicion to the Canadian.
“I don’t see what that has to do with you!”
“It isn’t very obvious,” Lisle agreed. “Shall we go in?”
They found Bella in the hall, and when her brother went to get-his coat she walked out on to the terrace with Lisle.
“Thank you,” she said gratefully when they were out of sight from the hall. “It was a relief to see you had succeeded in getting him away.”
“I’m sorry I was unable to do so sooner,” Lisle replied.
“Ah! Then he has been losing heavily again?”
“I’m afraid so. I couldn’t make my interference too marked.” Obeying some impulse, he laid his hand on her arm. “Rather a handful for you, isn’t he?”
Bella nodded, making no attempt to shake off his grasp.
“Yes,” she acknowledged with some bitterness; “but I can hardly complain that I have no control over him. It would be astonishing if I had.” She broke into a little harsh laugh. “Anyway, I manage to keep my head, and do not deceive myself, as he does. I know what our welcome’s worth and what the few people whose opinion counts for anything think of us.”
“Well,” offered Lisle, “if I can be of service in any respect—”
“Thanks,” she interrupted, and turned back toward the door.
When they reached the hall she glanced at her companion as the light fell on his face.
“Your offer’s genuine,” she said impulsively. “I can’t see what you expect in return.”
Lisle was puzzled by her expression. She was variable in her moods, generally somewhat daring, and addicted to light mockery. He could not tell whether she spoke in bitterness or in mischief.
“No,” he replied gravely, “nor do I.”
She left him with a laugh; and a little later he drove her and her companions away and afterward returned to Nasmyth’s house to find that his host had retired. Lisle followed his example and rising early the next morning they set off for the river, up which the sea-trout were running. They were busy all morning and it was not until noon, when they lay in the sunshine eating their lunch on a bank of gravel, that either of them made any allusion to the previous evening.
“Did you enjoy yourself last night?” Nasmyth asked.
“Fairly,” Lisle responded, smiling. “I’ve already confessed that you people interest me. At the same time, I had my difficulties—first of all to explain to the Marples why you didn’t come. The reasons you gave didn’t sound convincing.”
“They were good enough. It’s probable that Marple understood them. Like most of my neighbors, I go once or twice in a year; his subscription to the otter hounds entitles him to that.”
“We don’t look at things in that way in the parts of Canada I’m acquainted with,” laughed Lisle.
“Then I’ve no doubt you’ll come to it,” Nasmyth replied with some dryness. “They’ve done so already in the older cities. Now—since you’re fond of candor—you have been glad to earn a dollar or two a day by chopping and shoveling, haven’t you? Have you felt left out in the cold at all during the little while you have spent among us?”
“Not in the least,” Lisle owned.
“Then you can infer what you like from that. In this country, we take a good deal for granted and avoid explanations. But you haven’t said anything about the proceedings at Marple’s. I suppose you were invited to take a hand at cards?”
“I invited myself; result, sixty dollars to the bad in half an hour. I used to hold my own in our mining camps, and I hadn’t the worst cards.”
Nasmyth laughed with unconcealed enjoyment.
“The only fault I have to find with you Westerners is that you’re rather apt to overrate yourselves. I suppose they let young Crestwick in a good deal deeper?”
“That,” laughed Lisle, “is what you have been leading up to from the beginning.”
“I’ll admit it. As I’ve hinted, one of the differences between an American and an Englishman is that the former usually expresses more or less forcibly what he thinks, unless, of course, he’s a financier or a politician; while you have often to learn by experience what the latter means. Better use your own methods in telling me what took place.”
Lisle did so, omitting any reference to Bella, and Nasmyth looked disturbed and disgusted.
“Crestwick’s as devoid of sense as he is of manners; he deserves to lose. What I can’t get over is that fellow Batley’s staying in what was once George Gladwyne’s house, with Clarence standing sponsor for him.”
Lisle fancied he could understand. Nasmyth had his failings, but he had also his simple, drastic code, and it was repugnant to him that a man of his own caste, one of a family he had long known and respected, should countenance an outsider of Batley’s kind and assist him in fleecing a silly vicious lad.
“You have no reason to think well of Gladwyne,” Lisle reminded him.
“I haven’t,” Nasmyth owned. “Still, though the man has made one very bad break, I hardly expected him to exceed every limit. At present it looks as if he might do so; he’ll probably be forced to.”
“I don’t quite understand.”
“Then I’ll have to explain. It’s unpleasant, but here the thing is, as I see it—Batley’s not the kind of man Clarence would willingly associate with, and to give Clarence his dues, all his instinct must make him recoil from the fellow’s game with Crestwick. Considering that he’s apparently making no protest against it, this is proof to me that Batley has some pretty firm hold on him.”
“What’s Batley’s profession?”
“I suspect he’s something in the smart money-lending line; one of the fellows who deal with minors and others on post-obits.”
“Post-obits?”
“Promises to pay after somebody’s dead. Suppose there should be only an invalid or an old man between you and a valuable property; you could borrow on the strength of your expectations. Now, what Crestwick told you shows that the person who left him his money very wisely handed it to trustees, with instructions to pay him only an allowance until he’s twenty-four. It’s a somewhat similar case to the one I’ve instanced—he’s drawing on a capital he can’t get possession of for two or three years, and no doubt paying an extortionate interest. So far as I know, no respectable bank or finance broker would handle that kind of business.”
“But if the boy died before he succeeded to the property?”
“Batley could cover the risk by making Crestwick take out an insurance policy in his favor.”
Lisle’s face grew stern, and Nasmyth lay smoking in silence for a while. Then he broke out again:
“It’s intolerable! George Gladwyne’s successor abetting that fellow in robbing the lad, luring him into wagers and reckless play with the result that most of the borrowed money goes straight back into the hands of the man who lent it!”
“Have you any suspicion that Gladwyne gets a share?”
“No,” replied Nasmyth, with signs of strong uneasiness; “I can’t believe he benefits in that manner—if he did, I’d feel it my duty to denounce him. Still, I expect he wins a little now and then, incidentally.”
Again there was silence for a while, broken finally by Lisle.
“When I’d been here a week or two I began to see that my task wasn’t quite so simple as it had appeared—you can’t attack a man situated as Gladwyne is without hurting innocent people. Indeed, I’ve spent hours wondering how, when the time comes, I can clear Vernon’s memory, with the least possible damage—that is my business, not the punishing of Gladwyne, though he deserves no consideration. As you say, a man may make a bad break and pull up again, but this one has had his chance and has gone in deeper. What he’s doing now—helping to ruin that lad in cold-blood—is almost worse than the other offense.”
Nasmyth made an acquiescent gesture.
“It’s true; let it go at that. I don’t see how the thing can be stopped. There’s a fish rising in the slack yonder!”
Lisle saw a silvery gleam in a strip of less-troubled water behind a boulder and taking up his rod he cast the gaudy fly across the ripple. There was a jar, a musical clinking of the reel, and when Nasmyth waded in with ready net all thought of Gladwyne passed out of the Canadian’s mind.
After a few minutes’ keen excitement, they landed the beautiful glistening trout; and then they set off down-stream in search of another, scrambling over rock and gravel and wading amidst the froth in the pools. Overhead, soft gray clouds drifted by, casting long shadows across fern-clad hillside and far-reaching moor; and the flood flashed into silver gleams and grew dim again.
Both of the men were well content with their surroundings, and now and then Nasmyth wondered why Clarence could not be satisfied with the simple pleasures that were freely offered him. He could have had the esteem of his neighbors and the good will of his tenants, and there were healthful tasks that would have kept him occupied—the care of his estate, the improving of the homes and conditions of life of those who worked for him, experiments in stock-raising, local public duties. He had once slipped badly, so badly that the offense could hardly be contemplated; but that was when he was weak and famishing and under the influence of an overwhelming fear. At least, he could make some reparation by leaving the countryside better than he found it, and in this he had friends who would loyally assist him.
Clarence, however, had chosen another way, one that led down-hill to further dishonor; and Nasmyth considered gloomily what the end of it all would be. Occasionally he glanced at the lithe figure of the Canadian, standing knee-deep amid the froth of the stream. Serious-eyed, alert, resolute, he could be depended on to carry out any purpose he had determined on; it was his firm hands that would hold Clarence’s scourge.