Millicent had no intention of going to sleep among the rocks, but after a while she grew drowsy, and when at length she raised her head with a start the moon hung over the hills across the river, flooding the heights above her with a silvery light. The trees below were sharper in form, but everything was very still; only the thunder of the fall seemed to have increased in depth of tone. Millicent shivered from the cold as she sent a sharp cry ringing across the woods.
This time it was answered, and she recognized the voice. Looking down, she could see Lisle’s black figure moving cautiously along the ledge, for although the lower rocks were wrapped in shadow it is never altogether dark in the northern summer. Coming out into the moonlight, he examined the slab of rock which had arrested her descent, but when he spoke she was not quite pleased with his very matter-of-fact tone. It left something to be desired—she thought he might have displayed more satisfaction at finding her safe.
“Is there anything you could catch hold of at the top?” he asked. “If so, you’d better lower yourself until I can reach you.”
Anxious as she was to get down, Millicent hesitated; if she did as he suggested she would descend into his arms. She was not unduly prudish, and indeed, after being left alone in the impressive solitude of the wilds, she would have been glad of the reassuring grasp of a human being. But an obscure feeling, springing, perhaps, from primitive instincts, made her shrink from close contact with this particular man.
“No,” she answered coldly; “the rock is loose. Besides, the ledge is narrow, and if I came down heavily, we might both fall over.”
He again examined the slab, and then stood still, considering.
“Well,” he decided, “there’s a crack some way up that should give me a hold, and a bit of a projection you could rest a foot on yonder. Then if you gave me one hand, I could lower you down.”
He came up, thrusting his fingers into a fissure near the summit and finding a tiny support for his toes. Lowering herself cautiously, she clutched the hand he extended.
“Now,” he cautioned, “as gently as possible!”
Loosing her hold above, she hung for a moment or two, half afraid to let go his hand, while his arm and body grew tense with the strain and she could hear his labored breath. Summoning her courage she relaxed her grasp. In another second she was safe upon the ledge, and, scrambling down, he stood beside her with a set, flushed face, the veins protruding on his forehead.
“I’m glad that’s over; I was badly scared,” he acknowledged.
She thrilled at the confession, though she thought there had been no serious risk; his concern for her safety was strangely pleasant and the strenuous grasp of his fingers had stirred her.
“Oh,” she replied, “I believe I was quite safe after you got hold of me.”
He glanced at the steep face of broken rock that ran down into the shadow.
“If we’d gone over, we might not have brought up for a while,” he said. “But what’s that resting on yonder jutting stone?”
“I’m sorry it’s my sketch-book,” Millicent answered unguardedly. “It’s nearly filled.”
“Then wait here a little.”
“You can’t get it!” Millicent cried sharply. “You mustn’t try!”
“It’s quite easy.”
Millicent could not resist the temptation to make a rather dangerous experiment.
“And yet you were afraid a minute or two ago!”
“Yes,” he answered, looking at her steadily. “But that was different.”
She felt her heart-beats quicken and her face grow hot, but she laid a restraining hand on his arm.
“I won’t let you go.”
“You must be reasonable,” he urged, moving a pace away. “That book stands for a good deal of high-grade work. If you lose it, you will have wasted all the first part of your journey. Besides, I should feel very mean if I left it lying there.”
He lowered himself over the edge, and moving from cranny to cranny and stone to stone, went cautiously down, while she watched him with her hands closed tight. What the actual peril was she could not estimate; but it looked appallingly dangerous, particularly when in one place he had to descend from a slightly overhanging stone. He reached the book, however, and came up, and when at length he stood beside her his expression was quite normal and he was only a little breathless. Again she felt a disconcerting thrill which was accompanied by a confused sense of pride. What he had done was in her service, and this time he had shown no sign of fear or strain.
“Thank you,” she said. “But I’m a little angry—you shouldn’t have gone. I should never have forgiven myself if you had got hurt.”
There was light enough to show that the blood crept into his face; but he turned and glanced at the descending ledge.
“You had better put your hand on my shoulder where it’s steep,” he suggested. “Still, we’re not going to have much trouble in getting down.”
They had reached level ground before anything more was said, and then she turned to him with a smile.
“Why didn’t you come before? You left me an unpleasantly long while among the rocks.”
“We didn’t miss you until supper,” he explained. “Then I set off at once, but I didn’t know which way to look and the bush was pretty thick.” Stopping in the moonlight, he indicated his rent attire. “I think this speaks for itself,” he added humorously. “There’s one consolation—the things belong to Carew.”
Millicent was glad that he was not going to be serious.
“I remember that you didn’t bring much of an outfit,” she replied. “I suppose you had one. What became of it?”
“I left it behind, in pieces, on the thorns and rocks along a good many leagues of trail; but it wasn’t extensive—when you travel in this country you have often to choose between food and clothes. It was obviously impossible to buy any more, but the day before we reached camp I made Crestwick cut my hair. After a look at myself in Nasmyth’s pocket-glass, I’m inclined to think he was unwarrantably proud of his success.”
After that they chatted lightly, until they walked into the glow of the camp-fire, and while Bella and Miss Hume plied Millicent with questions and congratulations, Lisle took up Nasmyth’s repeating rifle and fired it several times.
“That will bring the boys in,” he explained. “Now I’ll get Miss Gladwyne’s supper.”
During the meal the others came back and when they had all assembled, looking the worse for their scramble through the bush, Crestwick, who had occasional lapses from good behavior, addressed them collectively.
“Wasn’t I right?” he asked. “I offered anybody three to one that Lisle would be the first to find her.”
“Then you ought to be ashamed of it, after the expensive way in which your confidence in your opinions has often been shown to be mistaken,” declared Bella. “Besides, you promised me you wouldn’t waste your money that way again!”
“This time I was backing a moral certainty,” Crestwick rejoined. “That isn’t gambling; if you’re not convinced, you can ask the others on what grounds they were so unwilling to take me.”
Receiving no encouragement, he addressed Millicent, who was extremely vexed with him.
“I suppose you know that you have given us all a good deal of anxiety. You ought to feel contrite.”
“I’m not sorry if I’ve given you a good deal of trouble,” Millicent retorted. “You were a long time in coming to my rescue.”
“That,” he exclaimed, “is just the kind of thing Bella used to delight in saying, though I’ll own that she’s been much more civil lately. It’s possible that Carew’s patience is not so long as mine.”
“Aren’t you getting rather personal?” Carew hinted.
Crestwick subsided with an indulgent grimace, but when they retired to their shelter Lisle turned upon him.
“It struck me that those jokes of yours were in what you would call uncommonly bad form,” he said. “It would be better if you didn’t make any more of them.”
“Bella doesn’t mind; she’s used to me,” Crestwick grinned.
“I wasn’t referring to Bella—she has somebody to take care of her.”
“And Miss Gladwyne hasn’t? Still, that’s her own fault, isn’t it? In my opinion, she has only to say the word.” He paused, seeing his companion’s face in the moonlight, for its expression was not encouraging. “Oh, well!” he added, “you needn’t lose your temper. There are people who can never see when a thing’s humorous; I’ll wind up.”
In the meanwhile Millicent sat in the entrance of her tent, looking out between the dark trunks of the cedars on the glittering river. It sluiced by, lapping noisily upon the shingle, lined with streaks of froth, and the roar of the neighboring fall filled the lonely gorge. The wildness of her surroundings had its charm; she had been happier among them than she had been at any time during the last twelve months in England, and now she was uneasily conscious of the reason. Lisle’s constant watchfulness over her comfort, his cheery conversation, even the sight of him when he was too busy to talk, were strangely pleasant. She realized why she had made him take the harder way in helping her down from the rock and the knowledge was disconcerting. She had been afraid to trust herself to the clasp of his arms, but not because of any want of confidence in him.
Then she saw Carew kiss Bella among the cedars before she left him to walk toward the tent, and the sight stirred her blood. It was clear that she must be on her guard; her guide must be kept firmly at a distance, though this promised to be difficult. She was, to all intents and purposes, pledged to Clarence; and until Bella joined her she tried to fix her thoughts on him, wondering where he was and what he was doing, without being able to find much interest in the question.
As it happened, Clarence was then sitting in a luxurious parlor-car as a big west-bound train sped through the forests of Ontario, but his face was troubled and he felt ill at ease. A little more than a fortnight earlier he had met Marple at a Swiss hotel, and the man had informed him that Miss Gladwyne and Miss Hume had sailed for Canada. Nasmyth, he added, had gone by a previous steamer, to make arrangements for some journey they wished to undertake. This was the first intimation Clarence had received. Millicent had written to him on the day before she sailed, but the letter, following him to one of the Italian valleys, had not yet reached him, and he was filled with consternation. She had stolen away, as if she did not wish to be burdened with his company; she was going to visit the scene of her brother’s death, no doubt under the guidance of Lisle, who had strong suspicions concerning it. He might communicate them to Millicent; perhaps he had done so already, which would account for her silent departure. With an effort Gladwyne roused himself to action. He made up his mind to follow her and, if necessary, attempt some defense. Perhaps, he thought, he could manage to destroy any evidence of his treachery which the Canadian had discovered.
Still, he was tormented by doubts as he lounged in the parlor-car, and, growing restless, he went out on the rear platform and lighted a cigar. There was faint moonlight, and dim trees fled past him; the rattle of wheels and the rush of the cool wind was soothing. He could not think while he stood holding on by the brass rail to protect himself against the lurching, and he found a relief in the roar as the great train swept across a foaming river. They had been detained at a junction during the afternoon, and the engineer was evidently bent on making up the wasted time.
Presently the door of the next car opened, and Gladwyne started violently as a dark figure came out on to the platform.
“Batley!” he cried. “What in the name of wonder has brought you here!”
Batley moving forward into the moonlight, regarded him with a mocking smile.
“Nothing very remarkable; I’d several motives. For one thing, I felt I’d like the trip—had a stroke of luck not long ago which justified the expense. British Columbia’s nowadays almost as accessible as parts of Norway, where I’ve generally gone to, and I understand it’s wilder.”
“But how is it I haven’t seen you on the train?” Gladwyne asked, in no way reassured by the man’s careless explanation.
“I only got on at the last junction.” Batley’s tone was significant as he proceeded. “I was too late for your Allan boat; when I inquired about you in London I found that you had gone; but I caught the next New York Cunarder and came on by Buffalo. I suppose you stopped a day or two in Montreal, which explains how I’ve overtaken you.”
“We were held up by ice off Newfoundland.”
“Well,” suggested Batley, “suppose we go into the smoking end of the car. I dare say you’d like a talk and it’s rather noisy here. Besides, the cinders are a little too plentiful.”
They went in and Batley, lounging in a seat, lighted a cigar and waited with an amused expression for the other to begin. Gladwyne was intensely uneasy. It had been a vast relief to be free from his companion, and the last thing he desired was that Batley, who was a remarkably keen-witted man, should go over the track of George’s expedition in company with Lisle.
“Now,” he said, “I’d be glad if you would tell me exactly why you followed me. The reason you gave didn’t seem sufficient.”
“Then my other object ought to be clear. You’re carrying a good deal of my money; I felt it would be wiser to keep an eye on you. As I said, I’d had a stroke of luck that enabled me to get away.”
“I suppose that means somebody has suffered!” Gladwyne, in his bitterness, could not help the injudicious sneer.
“Oh, no,” returned Batley good-humoredly. “In this case, I’d set a man on his feet—it’s now and then as profitable as pulling one down, and my methods aren’t always destructive. The fellow was straight and I’m inclined to believe he was grateful. I don’t think he could have found anybody else to back him, but I’m not afraid of a risk.” He paused and smiled at his companion. “Sometimes I make mistakes; I did so with you.”
Gladwyne flushed, but Batley proceeded:
“I may remind you that when I financed you I was led to believe that you would succeed to a handsome property; not one that was stripped of its working capital. I’ll give you credit for misleading me rather cleverly. All this is to the point, because it explains my watchful attitude. You’re the kind of man I prefer to keep in sight.”
Disgust, humiliation and anger possessed Gladwyne, but he knew that he was in his companion’s hands, and he did not think that Batley had stated all of his reasons yet. It was possible that he expected to discover something in British Columbia that would strengthen his hold on his victim.
“Well,” he replied with an attempt at calmness, “we needn’t quarrel, since it looks as if we’d have to put up with each other for some time. Have you finished what you have to say?”
“Not quite. There’s one question yet. When do you expect to marry Miss Gladwyne?”
“What is that to you?” Clarence broke out.
“Just this—I’m anxious to form some idea as to when I’m likely to get my money back. Since Miss Crestwick dropped you, there’s only Miss Gladwyne available, so far as I know, and you have got to marry money and do so pretty soon. I’m willing to do anything that may help on the match.”
Gladwyne’s face burned, he looked savage, but Batley continued to watch him with an ironical smile.
“I don’t want to drive you too hard, but I’m only stating an obvious fact,” he concluded. “Now I’ll leave you to think it over while I interview the porter of the sleeping-car.”
The evening was dull and gloomy, a gray sky hung over the desolate hills, and Millicent, sitting alone on a rocky slope, felt troubled and depressed. Beneath her, the long hollow that crossed the big divide stretched back, colored in cheerless neutral tints, into drifting mist. It was sprinkled with little ponds, and banded here and there with belts of stunted trees, small birches and willows, and ragged cedars that hid the oozy muskegs under them.
The girl was worn with travel, for Lisle had abandoned the canoes some time ago, and the party had followed, by what he called easy stages, the trail he and the packers had broken, though the women had found the way hard enough. This, he had informed them, would shorten the journey a good deal, and he expected to fall in with some Indians, from whom canoes could be obtained, once they had crossed the divide; failing this, they might be compelled to retrace their steps.
It was up the forbidding hollow they had lately reached that George Gladwyne had doggedly plodded, faint with hunger, on his last journey. Millicent had followed his trail for the past two days and she had found them filled with painful memories. All that Lisle had shown her had brought back her brother and once more she mourned for him. But that was an old wound that had partly healed and she could face the sorrowful story of George’s last struggles with a certain pride; he had endured with unwavering courage, and the manner of his death became him. The girl had other troubles which clouded the present and filled her with misgivings for the future.
During her first few weeks in the wilderness, lying all day under clear sunshine and cloudless skies, it had seemed to her an enchanted land. Snow-peaks, and crystal lakes that mirrored ranks of climbing firs, struck her as endowed with an almost unearthly beauty and as wonderful a tranquillity; and when she pushed on through the savage portals of the mountains there was something that stirred her nature in the sight of the foaming rivers and the roar of the spray-veiled falls. Now, however, the glamour had gone, it had been rudely banished on the night when Lisle had helped her down the rocks. She, who had allowed Clarence to believe that she would marry him, had found a strange delight in the company of another man; one whom she might have loved had she been free, she tried to convince herself, in a determined attempt to hide the fact that her heart cried out for him.
Lisle had pushed on with a single companion on the previous night to see if he could obtain canoes; the packers were breaking a trail, and the others were resting in camp. Millicent was glad of this, for she wanted to be alone. Suddenly, as she looked down the hollow, two indistinct figures appeared out of the mist. The packers had gone up the valley, but there was no doubt that it was two men she saw, and they were apparently making for the camp. As the party had met nobody since entering the wilderness, she felt curious about the strangers. There was something in the carriage of one of them that seemed familiar; and then the uneasiness of which she had already been conscious became intensified as she recognized that he walked like Clarence.
A few minutes later the men were hidden by a growth of willows and she sped back to camp, scrambling among the rocks with a haste that was born of nervous tension. She did not see the men again—it was needful to pick a path down the steep descent very carefully—and when she came, breathless, upon the clump of birches among which the tents were pitched it was evident from the hum of voices that the strangers had already arrived. Pushing in among the trees, she stopped, with her heart beating unpleasantly fast, face to face with Clarence.
“Ah!” he exclaimed, moving forward to meet her; “now I’m rewarded for my journey. How fit and brown you look, Millicent!”
She stood still a moment, with an expressionless face, finding no words to say; then with an effort she roused herself and shook hands with him.
“You must have had a trying march if you followed our trail,” she said. “But how did you get here—I mean why did you leave Switzerland?”
Crestwick chuckled.
“That’s very much what we all asked him,” he broke in. “In one way, it’s hardly civil; if we’d known he was coming, we’d have been better prepared to express our delight.”
The lad was not, as a rule, considerate and he suffered from want of tact, but there was truth behind what he said. It is given to only a few to be sure of a warm and sincere welcome when they take their friends by surprise. Nasmyth frowned at Crestwick, who had rashly hinted at the feeling of constraint that had seized upon the party. Millicent, however, was looking at Gladwyne and her heart grew softer as she noticed his weariness and his strained expression.
“Well,” she said when he had answered her, “you must sit down and rest. Nasmyth and Crestwick will get you something to eat as soon as possible.”
It was not what she would have wished to say—it sounded dreadfully commonplace—but Batley came forward with an easy laugh.
“I’m afraid our young friend”—he indicated Crestwick—“is not a diplomatist, but on the whole his fault’s a good one; he’s more or less honest. You’ll forgive us for surprising you; it was quite impossible to send you a warning.”
Millicent smiled, the tension suddenly slackened, and as the packer who cooked was away with his comrade, they all set about preparing a meal which, thanks to Batley, was eaten amid a flow of lively conversation. The man was weary, but he could rise to an occasion and summon to his aid a genial wit. Clarence was glad of this; fatigue had reacted on him, increasing his anxiety, and he had been chilled by the coldness of his reception. Even the cordiality his companions now displayed was suspicious, because it suggested that they wished to atone for something that had previously been lacking. He ate, however, and talked when he found an opportunity, and afterward acquiesced when Millicent declined to be drawn away from the others.
When the meal was finished, they sat close together about the fire, for coldness came with the dusk, but by degrees the conversation languished. The increasing chill, the gloom and the desolation of their surroundings affected them all; and nobody had been quite at ease since Gladwyne’s arrival. He was too tired to make more than spasmodic attempts to talk, and though Millicent was sorry for him she could not help contrasting him with Lisle. She had seen the latter almost worn out with severe labor, but even then he had been cheerful, ready to encourage his companions with lively badinage. He seemed to take pleasure in forcing his body to the utmost strain it could bear.
The light had died away into the partial obscurity which would last until sunrise when Lisle walked into camp. The fire had burned up, and Millicent saw his start and his face set hard at the sight of Gladwyne.
“This is a surprise,” he said. “When did you get here?”
“About two hours ago. We found where you left the water and followed up your trail,” Gladwyne answered.
“How many packers and what stores did you bring?”
“Two packers,” replied Gladwyne. “There were no more available at the last settlement. Batley has a list of the provisions—we cut them down as much as possible. As we were anxious to overtake you, we traveled light.”
Lisle took the list Batley gave him and examined it by the glow of the fire.
“It looks as if you didn’t mind endangering the safety of the whole party,” he broke out. “This expedition is already quite large enough, and you add four people to it with less than half the necessary stores, so that you could save yourself a little trouble on the journey! What’s more important, we can’t make up for the shortage by better speed. Only two of you can pack an average load, though all four must be fed.”
Millicent had listened, hot with anger and a little surprised. Lisle had his faults, including a shortness of temper, but he was now showing a strain of what she considered primitive barbarism which he had hitherto concealed. A cultured Englishman would have led Clarence aside or waited for an opportunity before remonstrating with him; and then her face burned as she wondered whether Lisle had been actuated by savage jealousy. It was, however, insufferable that he should display it in this fashion.
“I must point out that I organized the expedition,” she said. “Everybody here is my guest.”
“Did you invite Gladwyne and Batley?”
“I did not,” Millicent was compelled to own. “For all that, they are now in the same position as the rest. I must ask you to remember it.”
Lisle had some trouble in controlling himself, but he nodded. “Well,” he responded, “I’ll have to alter several of our arrangements and I’ll go along and talk it over with the packers. I’ve got the canoes required, and we’ll take the trail at seven to-morrow.”
He strode away toward the packers’ fire, quite aware that he had not behaved in a very seemly way, but still consumed with indignation against Gladwyne. When he had disappeared, Clarence looked up.
“I’m sorry if we have given you unnecessary trouble; but does your guide often adopt that rather hectoring tone?”
His languid contempt roused Crestwick.
“Lisle’s responsible for the safety of all of us,” the lad broke out, “and you haven’t shown much regard for it in making your loads as light as you could!”
Millicent raised her hand.
“We’ll talk about something else for a few minutes and then break up. It’s an early start to-morrow.”
They dispersed shortly afterward, but Batley sought Lisle before retiring to rest.
“I regret that we have added to your anxiety,” he began. “Of course, transport is a serious difficulty—I’ve had some little experience of this kind of thing.”
“In the field?” Lisle asked bluntly. “I’ve had a suspicion of it. Then why didn’t you remember?” He saw Batley’s smile, for they were standing by the packers’ fire. “Oh,” he added, “you needn’t trouble to shield Gladwyne. I formed my opinion of him some time ago—he’s a mighty poor specimen.”
“I’m inclined to agree with you,” replied Batley dryly.
They set off early the next morning, and after his forced march, Gladwyne found the load given him sufficiently heavy. He was badly jaded, aching all over, and disturbed in mind, when they camped near the summit of the divide late in the afternoon without his having been able to secure a word with Millicent alone. He felt that he must gain her consent to a formal engagement before Lisle let fall any hint of his suspicions, which he did not believe had been done so far. Afterward, knowing Millicent, he thought she would staunchly refuse to listen to anything to his discredit, and he could, if it were needful, ascribe Lisle’s attack to jealousy. He must, however, also contrive to push on ahead of the party, on some excuse, and obliterate any remaining trace of the former expedition’s provision caches; then he would be safe.
Millicent had strolled away from the others and was standing among the rocks when he overtook her. The signs of fatigue and tension in his face softened her toward him. Still, it was only compassion; she felt no thrill, but rather an involuntary shrinking and a sense of alarm. She was to be called upon to fulfil a duty to which she had somehow pledged herself.
“Millicent,” he began, “things can’t go on as they have been doing—pleasant as it was. I have waited patiently, but you can’t expect too much. Now I have come a long way to claim my reward. I want the right to look after you, and to tell the others so.”
His abruptness and hoarseness were expressive, but she felt that there was something lacking and she answered with a flippancy she seldom indulged in.
“You thought it needful to bring your privy counselor with you?”
“No; he came without even asking my permission.”
“Well,” she said, sitting down with forced calmness, “it doesn’t matter; but are you quite sure now that you really want me?”
There was no doubt that he was desperately anxious for her formal word; there was a feverish eagerness in his eyes. It puzzled her, but it left her unmoved and cold.
“Want you!” he cried. “Can you ask? Haven’t I constantly shown my devotion?”
“For the last few months—I mean after Lisle went back to Canada,” she replied with gathering color. “Before then, for a time, I think one could reasonably have doubted it.”
He looked confused; that Bella had attracted him had been obvious, and there was no way of getting over the fact gracefully.
“I’m afraid I have my weaknesses—want of balance, impulsiveness, and a capacity for being easily piqued,” he confessed. “Well, though perhaps I deserved it, you were cold and aloof enough to madden a more patient man, and I suppose I slackly yielded to wounded vanity. All the time, you were the one I had chosen, the only woman who had ever really stirred or could influence me. Nearly as long as I can remember I have loved and respected you. Occasionally you unbent enough to show me that you recognized it.”
There was some truth in this, and seeing the change in her expression, he went on:
“You can’t cast me off and fling me back upon myself—I couldn’t face that. During those last few months in England, you helped me forward far more than you suspected—showed me my duties, enabled me to carry them out. I can’t go on alone; I’m your responsibility; having taken it up, you can’t deny it now.”
Millicent smiled faintly.
“No,” she admitted; “I suppose that would be hardly fair.”
He would have thrown his arm about her, but she laid a hand on his shoulder and with gentle firmness held him back.
“No,” she said, with a deep color in her face; “not yet. We have been associated as cousins; I must get used to the new position.”
He had wit enough to yield, but he kissed her hands exultantly.
“It’s a pledge! I may tell the others?”
“Yes,” she consented quietly, “I think you may.”
For a while he sat at her feet, with her hand on his shoulder, talking about the future, and she was sensible of a certain calm satisfaction which had in it more than a trace of resignation. She had not shirked her duty, she was safe from temptation, and she had after all a sincere, half-pitying tenderness for the man. Her liking for him would, she thought, grow stronger, and the passion which Lisle had once or twice half awakened in her was a thing to be subdued and dreaded. Though Gladwyne saw that she was but lightly moved, he was content, and some time had passed when they went slowly back together to the camp.
Miss Hume was the first to notice them and when Millicent smiled she went hastily forward and kissed her. Then Bella joined them and Batley offered his good wishes in fitting terms. When Lisle and Nasmyth came up, a word from Bella was sufficient for them. For a moment the girl was startled by what she read in the Canadian’s face. It was, however, invisible to Millicent. Turning suddenly round without speaking he strode away, followed by Nasmyth. Stopping when he was hidden from the camp among the rocks Lisle turned savagely to his companion.
“You heard what Bella said!”
“I did!” replied Nasmyth. “The hound! It must be stopped!”
“Yes,” asserted Lisle, more coolly, “that’s a sure thing. Still, there are difficulties—she may not believe my story now. I almost think I’ll wait until we reach the two caches; then with something to back my statements, I might force the truth from him.”
“In that case, you had better watch him,” warned Nasmyth, looking deeply disturbed. “He may try to reach them first.”
The next moment Crestwick joined them.
“What’s to be done, Vernon?” he exclaimed. “Miss Gladwyne’s engagement’s formally announced—it can’t go on!”
“Why?” Lisle’s voice was stern. “What has it to do with you?”
“Well,” explained Crestwick, hesitating, “the man’s not to be trusted, he’s dangerous. He simply can’t be allowed to make this match!” He paused and spread out his hands. “I’m horribly troubled about it—I’d better tell you that I know—”
“You know nothing that need be mentioned,” Lisle interrupted him. “That’s positive; you have to remember it. As to the rest, you’ll leave the matter entirely in my hands.”
“Oh, well,” agreed Crestwick, “if you order it. That relieves me of my responsibility. I’m uncommonly glad to get rid of it.”
Lisle abruptly strode away, and Crestwick saw that Nasmyth was regarding him curiously.
“Lisle was quite right,” Nasmyth said. “He only forestalled me in instructions I meant to give you.”
“Then you understand what I was referring to?” exclaimed Crestwick.
“I’ve a good idea,” Nasmyth answered dryly. “In my opinion, so has Lisle.”
“But you were on the far side of the hedge on the morning we tried the horse, and Lisle was down. He wasn’t conscious when I broke through the thorns.”
“Quite correct; but it’s most unlikely he lost consciousness from the fall, and he was lying with his face turned toward the jump—it wasn’t until the chestnut came down on his shoulder that he was badly hurt. The doctor agreed with me on that point.”
“That might have struck me,” Crestwick rejoined. “But you owned that you had an idea of what happened at the jump. How did you get it? Did Lisle tell you?”
Nasmyth smiled grimly.
“I’m firmly convinced that he’ll never mention what he saw or suspects to anybody, unless it’s to Gladwyne. As to the rest, the hedge wasn’t thick enough to prevent my seeing through it.”
“He’s an unusual man,” declared Crestwick in an admiring tone. “I haven’t met his equal. But I’ll keep my eye on Gladwyne—there’s risk enough at some of the rapids—the hound shan’t have another chance if I can help it.”
They turned and went back to camp, but on reaching it they sat down among the packers, avoiding Gladwyne and Millicent.
The sense of security which Millicent experienced on announcing her engagement was not permanent and in a few days the doubts that had troubled her crept back into her mind. She had never entertained any marked illusions about Clarence and although, now that she was irrevocably pledged to him, she endeavored to fix her thoughts on his most likable qualities, even these appeared in a less favorable light than they had formerly done. The growth of the warmer attachment she had expected to feel was strangely slow, and though it was early to indulge in regrets her heart sometimes grew heavy as she looked forward to the future. Clarence was considerate, attentive and deferential in a polished way, but he lacked something one looked for in a lover. Besides, she was anxious about him; he looked worn, his manner suggested that he was bearing a strain, but this was in his favor, for it roused her compassion. She fancied that the cause of it was financial, and this in a sense was encouraging, because this was a trouble from which she could purchase him immunity.
In the meanwhile she was stirred by mournful memories as she followed the last stages of her brother’s journey and visited the lonely spot where he had met his end. Somehow the thought of him encouraged her—George had quietly done his duty, regardless of the cost, and even if her burden proved heavy, which it was premature to admit, she must bear it cheerfully.
At length they stopped one evening at a portage, and Lisle examined the stores.
“The food’s getting short,” he announced. “One or two of you had better take out your rifles the first thing to-morrow, while the rest go fishing. I’ll tackle the portage with two packers.”
He began his work at sunrise the next morning and it was toward evening when Crestwick came back exultant with a blacktail buck. Nasmyth was fishing near the camp and Lisle was busy with a canoe near by.
“Where are the rest? How have they got on?” Lisle asked.
“I think Batley went back to the last reach with Carew’s rod,” Crestwick answered. “I met Gladwyne and one of the packers on the low range back yonder; they’d only got a blue grouse.”
“I could have done with the man here,” said Lisle. “Which way were they heading?”
“Back up-river, the way we came.”
Lisle made no comment, but Crestwick thought he found the information reassuring, and thrusting out the canoe he was swept away down the easiest part of the rapid, while Crestwick assisted Nasmyth to land a trout. Lisle had returned to the camp when the packer who had accompanied Clarence came in alone, bringing a couple of grouse.
“What’s become of Mr. Gladwyne?” Lisle asked him.
“Hasn’t he got back?” replied the other, glancing about. “I lost him on the far slope of the bluff about noon, but as he could see the river most anywhere from the top I went right on. There was a deer trail I was trying to follow.”
Lisle said nothing more to the packer but walked rapidly toward where the cook was getting supper ready. Nasmyth followed him.
“Did you give Mr. Gladwyne any lunch to carry with him when he left camp?” Lisle asked the man.
“I was busy when he came along and I told him to look around for himself. I think he took some canned stuff and there was quite a big loaf missing.”
“Bring the box you keep the canned goods in!”
The cook produced it.
“There’s two meat cans gone, anyway,” he remarked. “Looks as if Mr. Gladwyne figured on getting mighty hungry.”
Lisle nodded.
“Put me up enough bread and fish for two of us for two days.”
He moved away with Nasmyth, and they had left the fire behind when he spoke, his voice hoarse with anger.
“Gladwyne’s gone to the cache! He’s got half a day’s clear start of us and he knows the country. It’s pretty open and he’ll make quite a good pace on a straight trail, while the river bends. Get the stuff I asked for while I give the others a few instructions.”
“You mean to start after him at once?”
“As soon as you’re ready,” Lisle said shortly.
He turned back toward where the others were sitting waiting for supper.
“As Gladwyne hasn’t turned up, Nasmyth and I are going to look for him,” he announced. “There’s nothing to be alarmed about, but it’s quite likely we may not be back in the morning. If we don’t turn up by noon, you had better start down-river and we’ll pick you up farther on. I don’t want to waste another day.”
“Do you think he has got lost altogether?” Millicent asked anxiously.
“No,” answered Lisle, in a reassuring manner. “Still, some of these ridges are bad to climb and quite a lot of things may happen to delay him.”
He called to a packer and gave him definite orders to take the party down-river and wait at a spot agreed upon; and a few minutes later he and Nasmyth left the camp.
Shortly afterward Batley came in.
“Where are the others?” he asked.
They told him and he looked thoughtful.
“So Lisle started at once! Which way did he and Nasmyth go?”
“Up the ridge behind us, but they turned down-stream when they reached the top,” Carew replied.
Batley scented a mystery.
“Well,” he said, “I think I’ll go after them; I might be useful. Of course, you’ll start to-morrow as Lisle told you, and if I’m not back by then, I’ll follow the river to the rendezvous he mentioned.”
He disappeared, as did Crestwick, who came in for supper later on, and as the packers had pitched their tent lower down, there was now only Carew left with the women in camp. They were all a little uneasy as dusk grew near; the haste with which the men had set out one after another struck them as ominous. Bella’s mind was unusually active, for she had promptly decided that there was something behind all this, and when at last Millicent strolled away from the others she followed her to the edge of the water. A ridge of rock cut them off from view of the camp and though she fancied that Millicent was not pleased to see her, Bella sat down upon a stone.
“In a way, the anxiety that Lisle and the rest have shown to find Clarence is flattering,” she began, expressing part of her thoughts. “I wonder if they’d all have gone off in such a hurry if Jim had got lost.”
“Your brother knows the bush,” returned Millicent, hiding her fears.
Bella did not respond to this. She had decided that Millicent must not be allowed to marry Gladwyne, but she could not bring herself to denounce the man. If that must be done, somebody else would have to undertake the task. At the same time, she felt it incumbent on her to give the girl some warning, or at least to find out how far her confidence in her lover went, in order to determine how advice could best be offered.
“I wonder if you feel quite sure you will be happy with Clarence?” she ventured.
“You have provoked the retort—were you convinced that you would be happy with Arthur Carew, when you made up your mind to marry him so suddenly?”
Bella’s smile expressed forbearance. It was getting dark, but she could see the hot flush in her companion’s cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes. Neither was encouraging, but Bella was not easily, daunted, and she felt that her persistence was really meritorious, considering that until lately Millicent had never been cordial to her.
“Perhaps I’d better answer,” she said sweetly. “I was sure of Arthur, and that means a good deal more than that I knew he was in love with me—I don’t suppose you heard that he’d proposed to me once before?”
“Why didn’t you take him then?” Millicent asked coldly. “Remember you have justified my being personal.”
Bella grew rather hot—when Carew had made his first offer she had been in eager pursuit of Gladwyne—but she sternly suppressed a desire to retaliate.
“I don’t think we need go into that,” she replied. “As I said, I was sure of Arthur—I knew his character, knew he was better than I am, that he could be depended on. He’s the kind of man one is safe with; I felt that the more I saw of him, the more I could trust him. Perhaps the feeling’s a safer guide than passion—it stands longer wear—and now I’m getting to like him better every day.”
Her voice dropped to a tender note and Millicent felt a little astonished, and ashamed of her harshness. This was a new Bella, one in whose existence she could hardly have believed.
“I haven’t quite finished, though I don’t often talk like this,” Bella went on. “I feel that without the confidence I’ve tried to describe marriage must be a terrible risk—one might find such ugly qualities in the man; even defects you could forgive beforehand would become so much worse when you had to suffer because of them. Of course, one can’t expect perfection, but there ought to be something—honor, a good heart, a generous mind—that one can rely on as a sure foundation. When you have that, you can build, and even then the building may be difficult.” She paused before she concluded: “My dear, I’m happier than I deserve to be; I have chosen wisely.”
Nothing more was said for a few minutes, but Bella, studying her companion’s face, was more or less content. Millicent’s faith in Clarence was weak, she was forcing herself to believe in him; it might be possible to make her see her lover in his true character, though Bella had not yet determined on the exact course she would adopt. Then Carew called from the camp and she went back, while Millicent sat still with grave doubts in her heart. Bella’s faith in her husband was warranted, and Millicent was enough of an optimist to believe that such men were not uncommon—there was Lisle, for example, and Nasmyth. With them one would undoubtedly have something to build a happy and profitable life upon—but what could be done with one in whom there was no foundation, only the shifting sands of impulses, or, perhaps, unsounded depths of weakness into which the painfully-raised edifice might crumble? She stove to convince herself that she was becoming wickedly hypercritical, thinking treasonably of her lover, particularly in contrasting him with her guide. There must be no more of that, and she rose and walked back to her tent with a resolution that cost her an effort.
In the meanwhile Lisle and Nasmyth were pushing on as fast as possible along the stony summit of the ridge. There was moonlight, which made it a little easier, but they stumbled every now and then. Here and there they were forced to scramble down the sides of a gully and on reaching the bottom to plunge into water, and once they had to scramble some distance shut in by the rocks before they could find a means of ascending. Still, they were hard and inured to fatigue, and they never slackened the pace. When striding along a stretch of smoother ground Nasmyth gathered breath to speak.
“We were easily taken in,” he declared; “though the thing was cunningly planned. Gladwyne took the packer with him and headed back at first, to divert suspicion. It would be easy enough to lose the man and turn down-stream again; and that he intended something of the kind is proved by his taking so much food with him. No doubt, he’d rather have avoided that, in case it looked suspicious, but he’s had one hungry march over the same ground, and I dare say it was quite enough. Besides, he could defy us once he’d emptied and obliterated the caches.”
“You understand the way your people’s minds work better than I do,” Lisle returned dryly.
“That’s natural, isn’t it? The idea that I’m most impressed with just now is that Millicent might believe it her duty to stick to Clarence more closely because of a tale that was merely damaging. She would never allow herself or anybody else to credit it, unless she had absolutely convincing proof.”
“Yes,” agreed Lisle; “I guess you’re right. That’s precisely why we have got to get there first.”
A thicket of thorny vines and canes barred his way, but he went straight at the midst of it and struggled through, savagely smashing and rending down the brush. The clothes he had borrowed from Carew looked considerably the worse for wear when he came out; and then he recklessly leaped across a dark cleft the bottom of which he could not see. Presently they left the ridge and headed away from the river, which flowed round a wide curve, and toward dawn they were brought up by a ravine. The roar of water rose hoarsely from its depths. The moon was getting low and the silvery light did not reach far down the opposite side, but they could see a sheer, smooth wall of rock, and the width of the chasm rendered any attempt to jump it out of the question.
“No way of getting across here,” decided Lisle. “At the same time, it looks as if Gladwyne must be held up on the same side that we are. We’ll follow the cañon; down-stream, I think.”
The moonlight was getting dimmer, but, at some risk of falling into the rift, they pushed on along the brink, looking down as they went. They could see no means of descending, but at length, when rocks and trees were getting blacker and a little more distinct in the chilly dawn, they made out a fallen trunk with broken white branches lying upon a tall mass of rock below.
“I’ve an idea that the top of that tree reached across to this side when it first came down,” Lisle said. “Have you got a match?”
Nasmyth had brought a few carefully-treasured wax matches with him, and he lighted one. It was very still, except for the roar of the hidden torrent, and the pale flame burned steadily in the motionless cold air. It showed a couple of hollows, where something had rested, close to the edge of the rift, and one or two fresh scratches on a strip of rock. Lisle stooped down beside them.
“Hold the thing lower!” he exclaimed sharply. “It’s as I suspected—this is where Gladwyne got across; though he has better nerves than I thought he had. The broken end of a branch or two rested right here, and he was smart enough to heave the butt off the other bank, after he’d crawled over. Looks to me as if it had broken off yonder stump. Guess there’ll be light enough to look for a way across in half an hour.”
Sitting down he filled his pipe, and shortly afterward he raised one hand as if listening. For a while, Nasmyth could hear nothing except the roar of water; there was not a sound that he could catch in the thin straggling bush behind them where few trails of mist were stretched athwart the trees. Then he started as a faint crackling and snapping began in the distance.
“Can it be a bear?” he asked.
“No; it’s a man!”
Nasmyth was somewhat astonished. They had not seen a human being except those of their party for a long while, and it seemed strange that they should come across one now in the early dawn in those remote wilds.
“He’s wearing boots,” he said diffidently, as the crackling drew nearer.
“Yes,” Lisle responded; “he’s making a good deal more noise than a bushman would.”
The sound steadily approached them. Nasmyth found something mysterious and rather eerie in it, and he was on the whole relieved when a dark figure materialized among the trees near by. He could barely see it, but Lisle called out sharply:
“What has brought you on our trail, Batley?”
The man came toward them with a breathless laugh and sat down.
“It isn’t your trail but Gladwyne’s I’m interested in, and I can’t say that I’ve succeeded in following that. I merely pushed on, until I struck this cañon and as I couldn’t get across, I followed it up.”
“You’re not easily scared,” Lisle commented. “You might have got lost. Guess you had some motive that made you take the risk.”
“I felt pretty safe. You see, I knew I could strike the river, if necessary. At the same time you were right about the motive—in fact, there’s no use in trying to hide it. I may as well confess that I’d sooner keep Gladwyne in sight.”
“Out of regard for his welfare?” Nasmyth asked.
Batley laughed.
“Not altogether. The fact is, he’s carrying a good deal of my money.”
“One should have imagined that you’d have had him well insured.”
“That’s quite correct. If he came to grief in England, I shouldn’t anticipate any trouble, but it would be different out here and, everything considered, I’d rather avoid complications with the insurance companies. Now that I’ve been candid, do you feel inclined to reciprocate?”
“Not in the least,” Lisle replied shortly. “I’m not sure I even sympathize. But since you’ve turned up you’ll have to stick to us; I don’t want to waste time in leading another search party. As soon as there’s a little more light, we’ll try to get across the cañon.”
“Thanks for the permission,” smiled Batley, lighting a cigar.