A. Maynard Barbour

During Mr. Underwood's illness and convalescence it was pathetic to watch his dependence upon Darrell. He seemed to regard him almost as a son, and when, as his health improved, Darrell spoke of returning to the camp, he would not hear of it.

Every day after Walcott's return Mr. Underwood was taken to the office, where he gradually resumed charge, directing the business of the firm though able to do little himself. As he was still unable to write, he wished Darrell to act as his secretary, and the latter, glad of an opportunity to reciprocate Mr. Underwood's many kindnesses to himself, readily acceded to his wishes. When engaged in this work he used the room which had formerly been his own office and which of late had been unoccupied.

Returning to his office after the transaction of some outside business, to await, as usual, the carriage to convey Mr. Underwood and himself to The Pines, he heard Walcott's voice in the adjoining room. A peculiar quality in his tones, as though he were pleading for favor, arrested Darrell's attention, and he could not then avoid hearing what followed.

"But surely," he was saying, "an amount so trifling, and taking all the circumstances into consideration, that I regarded myself already one of your family and looked upon you as my father, you certainly cannot take so harsh a view of it!"

"That makes no difference whatever," Mr. Underwood interposed sternly; "misappropriation of funds is misappropriation of funds, no matter what the amount or the circumstances under which it is taken, and as for your looking upon me as a father, I wouldn't allow my own son, if I had one, to appropriate one dollar of my money without my knowledge and consent. If you needed money you had only to say so, and I would have loaned you any amount necessary."

"But I regarded this in the nature of a loan," Walcott protested, "only I was so limited for time I did not think it necessary to speak of it until my return."

"You were not so limited but that you had time to tamper with the books and make false entries in them," Mr. Underwood retorted.

"That was done simply to blind the employees, so they need not catch on that I was borrowing."

"There is no use in further talk," the other interrupted, impatiently; "what you have done is done, and your talk will not smooth it over. Besides, I have already told you that I care far less for the money withdrawn from my personal account than for the way you are conducting business generally. There is not a client of mine who can say that I have ever wronged him or taken an unfair advantage of him, and I'll not have any underhanded work started here now. Everything has got to be open and above-board."

"As I have said, Mr. Underwood, in the hurry and excitement of the last week or so before my going away I was forced to neglect some business matters; but if I will straighten everything into satisfactory shape and repay that small loan, as I still regard it, I hope then that our former pleasant relations will be resumed, and that no little misapprehension of this sort will make any difference between us."

"Walcott," said Mr. Underwood, rising on his crutches and preparing to leave the room, "I had absolute confidence in you; I trusted you implicitly. Your own conduct has shaken that confidence, and it may be some time before it is wholly restored. We will continue business as before; but remember, you are on probation, sir—on probation!"

When Kate Underwood received her father's letter, instead of prolonging her visit she at once prepared to return home. She understood that the barrier between her father and herself had been swept away, and nothing could then hold her back from him.

Two days later, as Mr. Underwood was seated by the fire on his return from the office, there came a ring at the door which he took to be the postman's. Mrs. Dean answered the door.

"Any letter from Kate?" he asked, as his sister returned.

"Yes, there's a pretty good-sized one," she replied, with a broad smile, adding, as he glanced in surprise at her empty hands, "I didn't bring it; 'twas too heavy!"

The next instant two arms were thrown about his neck, a slender figure was kneeling beside him, and a fair young face was pressed close to his, while words of endearment were murmured in his ear.

Without a word he clasped her to his breast, holding her for a few moments as though he feared to let her go. Then, relaxing his hold, he playfully pinched her cheeks and stroked the brown hair, calling her by the familiar name "Puss," while his face lighted with the old genial smile for the first time since his illness. Each scanned the other's face, striving to gauge the other's feelings, but each read only that the old relations were re-established between them, and each was satisfied.

Within a day or so of her return Kate despatched a messenger to Walcott with the ring, accompanied by a brief note to the effect that everything between them was at an end, but that it was useless for him to seek an explanation, as she would give none whatever.

He at once took the note to his senior partner.

"I understood, Mr. Underwood, that everything was amicably adjusted between us; I did not suppose that you had carried your suspicions against me to any such length as this!"

Mr. Underwood read the note. "I know nothing whatever regarding my daughter's reasons for her decision, and have had nothing whatever to do with it. I knew that she had formed that decision at the last moment before the wedding ceremony was to be performed, before she was even aware of its postponement. She seemed to think she had sufficient reasons, but what those reasons were I have never asked and do not know."

"But do you intend to allow her to play fast and loose with me in this way? Is she not to fulfil her engagement?" Walcott inquired, with difficulty concealing his anger.

Mr. Underwood regarded him steadily for a moment. "Mr. Walcott, taking all things into consideration, I think perhaps we had better let things remain as they are, say, for a year or so. My daughter is young; there is no need of haste in the consummation of this marriage. I have found what she is worth to me, and I am in no haste to spare her from my home. If she is worth having as a wife, she is worth winning, and I shall not force her against her wishes a second time."

Mr. Underwood spoke quietly, but Walcott understood that further discussion was useless.

Meeting Kate a few days later in her father's office, he greeted her with marked politeness. After a few inquiries regarding her visit, he said,—

"May I be allowed to inquire who is responsible for your sudden decision against me?"

"You, and you alone, are responsible," she replied.

"But I do not understand you," he said.

"Explanations are unnecessary," she rejoined, coldly.

Walcott grew angry. "I know very well that certain of your friends are no friends of mine. If I thought that either or both of them had had a hand in this I would make it a bitter piece of work for them!"

"Mr. Walcott," said Kate, with dignity, "you only demean yourself by such threats. No one has influenced me in this matter but you yourself. You unwittingly afforded me, at the last moment, an insight into your real character. That is enough!"

Walcott felt that he had gone too far. "Perhaps I spoke hastily, but surely it was pardonable considering my grievance. I hope you will overlook it and allow me to see you at The Pines, will you not, Miss Underwood?"

"If my father sees fit to invite you to his house I will probably meet you as his guest, but not otherwise."

Although Mr. Underwood had resumed charge of the downtown offices as before his illness, it soon became evident to all that his active business life was practically over, and that some of his varied interests, involving as they did a multiplicity of cares and responsibilities, must be curtailed. It was therefore decided to sell the mines at Camp Bird at as early a date as practicable, and Mr. Britton, Mr. Underwood's partner in the mining business, was summoned from a distant State to conduct negotiations for the sale. He arrived early in April, and from that time on he and Darrell were engaged in appraising and advertising the property embraced in the great mining and milling plant, in arranging the terms of sale, and in accompanying various prospective purchasers or their agents to and from the mines.

Darrell's work as Mr. Underwood's secretary had been taken up by Kate, who now seldom left her father's side. Between herself and Darrell there was a comradeship similar to that which existed between them previous to her engagement with Walcott, only more healthful and normal, being unmixed with any regret for the past or dread of the future.

"You will remain at The Pines when the mines are sold, will you not?" she inquired one day on his return from a trip to the camp.

"Not unless I am needed," he replied; "your father will need me but little longer; then, unless you need me, I had better not remain."

She was silent for a moment. "No," she said, slowly, "I do not need you; I have the assurance of your love; that is enough. I know you will be loyal to me as I to you, wherever you may be."

"I will feel far less regret in going away now that I know you are free from that man Walcott," Darrell continued; "but I wish you would please answer me one question, Kathie: have you any fear of him?"

"Not for myself," she answered; "but I believe he is a man to be feared, and," she added, significantly, "I do sometimes fear him for my friends; perhaps for that reason it is, as you say, better that you should not remain."

"Have no fear for me, Kathie. I understand. That man has been my enemy from our first meeting; but have no fear; I am not afraid."

By the latter part of May negotiations for the sale of the mines had been consummated, and Camp Bird passed into the possession of strangers. It was with a feeling of exile and homelessness that Darrell, riding for the last time down the canyon road, turned to bid the mountains farewell, looking back with lingering glances into the frowning faces he had learned to love.

"What do you propose doing now?" Mr. Britton asked of him as they were walking together the evening after his return from camp.

"That is just what I have been asking myself," Darrell replied.

"Without arriving at any satisfactory conclusion?"

"Not as yet."

"What would you wish to do, were you given your choice?"

"What I wish to do, and what I intend to do if possible, is to devote the next few months to the completion of my book. I can now afford to devote my entire time to it, but I could not do the work justice unless amid the right surroundings, and the question is, where to find them. I do not care to remain here, and yet I shrink from going among strangers."

"There is no need of that," Mr. Britton interposed, quickly; after a pause he continued: "You once expressed a desire for a sort of hermit life. I think by this time you have grown sufficiently out of yourself that you could safely live alone with yourself for a while. How would that suit you for three or four months?"

"I should like it above all things," Darrell answered enthusiastically; "it would be just the thing for my work, but where or how could I live in such a manner?"

"I believe I agreed at that time to furnish the hermitage whenever you were ready for it."

"Yes, you said something of the kind, but I never understood what you meant by it."

"Settle up your business here, pack together what things you need for a few months' sojourn in the mountains, be ready to start with me next week, and you will soon understand."

"What is this hermitage, as you call it, and where is it?" Darrell asked, curiously.

The other only shook his head with a smile.

"All right," said Darrell, laughing; "I only hope it is as secluded and beautiful as Camp Bird; I am homesick to-night for my old quarters."

"You can spend your entire time, if you so desire, without a glimpse of a human being other than the man who will look after your needs, except as I may occasionally inflict myself upon you for a day or so."

"Good!" Darrell ejaculated.

"It is amid some of the grandest scenery ever created," Mr. Britton continued, adding, slowly, "and to me it is the most sacred spot on earth,—a veritable Holy of Holies; some day you will know why."

"I thank you, and I beg pardon for my levity," said Darrell, touched by the other's manner. And the two men clasped hands and parted for the night.

A few days later, as Darrell bade his friends at The Pines good-by, Kate whispered,—

"You think this is a parting for three or four months; I feel that it is more. Something tells me that before we meet again there will be a change—I cannot tell what—that will involve a long separation; but I know that through it all our hearts will be true to each other and that out of it will come joy to each of us."

"God grant it, Kathie!" Darrell murmured.