Vane spent a month at the Dene, with quiet satisfaction, and when at last he left for London and Paris he gladly promised to come back for another few weeks before he sailed for Canada. He stayed some time in Paris, because Carroll insisted on it, but it was with eagerness that he went north again late in the autumn. For one reason—and he laid some stress upon this—he longed for the moorland air and the rugged fells, though he admitted that Evelyn's society enhanced their charm for him.

At last, shortly before he set out on the journey, he took himself to task and endeavored to determine precisely the nature of his feelings toward her; but he signally failed to elucidate the point. It was clear only that he was more contented in her presence, and that, apart from her physical comeliness, she had a stimulating effect upon his mental faculties. Then he wondered how she regarded him; and to this question he could find no answer. She had treated him with a quiet friendliness, and had to some extent taken him into her confidence. For the most part, however, there was a reserve about her that he found more piquant than deterrent, and he was conscious that, while willing to talk with him freely, she was still holding him off at arm's length.

On the whole, he could not be absolutely sure that he desired to get much nearer. Though he failed to recognize this clearly, his attitude was largely one of respectful admiration, tinged with a vein of compassion. Evelyn was unhappy, and out of harmony with her relatives; and he could understand this more readily because their ideas occasionally jarred on him.

One morning, about a fortnight after they returned to the Dene, Vane and Carroll walked out of the hamlet where the wheelwright's shop was. Sitting down on the wall of a bridge, Vane opened the telegram in his hand.

"I think you have Nairn's code in your wallet," he said. "We'll decipher the thing."

Carroll laid the message on a smooth stone and set to work with a pencil.

"Situation highly satisfactory."

He broke off, to chuckle a comment.

"It must be, if Nairn paid for an extra word—highly's not in the code."

Then he went on with the deciphering:

"Result of reduction exceeds anticipations. Stock thirty premium. Your presence not immediately required."

"That's distinctly encouraging," declared Vane. "Now that they are getting farther in, the ore must be carrying more silver."

"It strikes me as fortunate. I ran through the bank account last night, and there's no doubt that you have spent a good deal of money. It confirms my opinion that you have mighty expensive friends."

Vane frowned, but Carroll continued undeterred.

"You want pulling up, after the way you have been indulging in a reckless extravagance which, I feel compelled to point out, is new to you. The check drawn in favor of Gerald Chisholm rather astonished me. Have you said anything about it to his relatives?"

"I haven't."

"Then, judging by the little I saw of him, I should consider it most unlikely that he has made any allusion to the matter. The next check was even more surprising—I mean the one you gave his father."

"They were both loans. Chisholm offered me security."

"Unsalable stock, or a mortgage on property that carries another charge!
Have you any idea of getting the money back?"

"What has that to do with you?"

Carroll spread out his hands.

"Only this: It strikes me that you need looking after. We can't stay here indefinitely. Hadn't you better get back to Vancouver before your English friends ruin you?"

"I'll go in three or four weeks; not before."

Carroll sat silent a minute or two, and then looked his companion squarely in the face.

"Is it your intention to marry Evelyn Chisholm?"

"I don't know what has put that into your mind."

"I should be a good deal astonished if it hadn't suggested itself to her family," Carroll retorted.

Vane looked thoughtful.

"I'm far from sure that it's an idea they would entertain with any great favor. For one thing, I can't live here."

Carroll laughed.

"Try them, and see. Show them Nairn's telegram when you mention the matter."

Vane swung himself down from the wall. During the past two weeks he had seen a good deal of Evelyn, and his regard for her had rapidly grown stronger. Now that news that his affairs were prospering had reached him, he suddenly made up his mind.

"It's very possible that I may do so," he informed his comrade. "We'll get along."

His heart beat a little more rapidly than usual as they turned back toward the house, but he was perfectly composed when some time later he sat down beside Chisholm, who was lounging away the morning on the lawn.

"I've been across to the village for a telegram I expected," he said, handing Chisholm the deciphered message. "It occurred to me that you might be interested. The news is encouraging."

Chisholm read it with inward satisfaction. When he laid it down he had determined on the line he meant to follow.

"You're a fortunate man. There's probably no reasonable wish that you can't gratify."

"There are things one can't buy with money," Vane replied.

"That is very true. They're often the most valuable. On the other hand, some of them may now and then be had for the asking. Besides, when one has a sanguine temperament and a determination, it's difficult to believe that anything one sets one's heart on is quite unattainable."

Vane wondered whether he had been given a hint. Chisholm's manner was suggestive, and Carroll's remarks had had an effect on him. He sat silent, and Chisholm continued:

"If I were in your place, I should feel that I had all that I could desire within my reach."

Vane was becoming sure that his comrade had been right. Chisholm would not have harped on the same idea unless he had intended to convey some particular meaning; but the man's methods roused Vane's dislike. He could face opposition, and he would rather have been discouraged than judiciously prompted.

"Then if I offered myself as a suitor for Evelyn, you would not think me presumptuous?"

Chisholm was somewhat astonished at his abruptness, but he smiled reassuringly.

"No; I can't see why I should do so. You are in a position to maintain a wife in comfort, and I don't think anybody could take exception to your character." He paused a moment. "I suppose you have some idea of how Evelyn regards you?"

"Not the faintest. That's the trouble."

"Would you like Mrs. Chisholm or myself to mention the matter?"

"No," answered Vane decidedly. "In fact, I must ask you not to do anything of the kind. I only wished to make sure of your good will, and now that I'm satisfied on that point, I'd rather wait and speak—when it seems judicious."

Chisholm nodded.

"I dare say that would be wisest. There is nothing to be gained by being precipitate."

Vane thanked him, and waited. He fancied that the transaction—that seemed the best name for it—was not completed yet; but he meant to leave the matter to his companion; he would not help the man.

"There's something that had better be mentioned now, distasteful as it is," Chisholm said at length. "I can settle nothing upon Evelyn. As you must have guessed, my affairs are in a far from promising state. Indeed, I'm afraid I may have to ask your indulgence when the loan falls due; and I don't mind confessing that the prospect of Evelyn's making what I think is a suitable marriage is a relief to me."

Vane's feelings were somewhat mixed, but contempt figured prominently among them. He could find no fault with Chisholm's desire to safeguard his daughter's future, but he was convinced that the man looked for more than this. He felt that he had been favored with a delicate hint to which his companion expected an answer. He was sorry for Evelyn, and was ashamed of the position he was forced to take.

"Well," he replied curtly, "you need not be concerned about the loan; I'm not likely to prove a pressing creditor. To go a little farther, I should naturally take an interest in the welfare of my wife's relatives. I don't think I can say anything more in the meanwhile."

When he saw Chisholm's smile, he felt that he might have spoken more plainly without offense; but the elder man looked satisfied.

"Those are the views I expected you to hold," he declared. "I believe that Mrs. Chisholm will share my gratification if you find Evelyn disposed to listen to you."

Vane left him shortly afterward with a sense of shame. He felt that he had bought the girl, and that, if she ever heard of it, she would find it hard to forgive him for the course he had taken. When he met Carroll he was frowning.

"I've had a talk with Chisholm," he said. "It has upset my temper—I feel mean! There's no doubt that you were right."

Carroll's smile showed that he could guess what was in his comrade's mind.

"I shouldn't worry too much about the thing. The girl probably understands the situation. It's not altogether pleasant, but I dare say she's more or less resigned to it. She can't help herself."

Vane gazed at him with anger.

"Does that make it any better? Is it any comfort to me?"

"Take her out of it. If she has any liking for you, she'll thank you for doing so."

Vane strode away, and nobody saw him again for an hour or two. In the afternoon, however, at Mrs. Chisholm's suggestion, he and Carroll set out with the girls for a hill beyond the tarn.

It was a perfect day of late autumn. A pale golden haze softened the rugged outlines of crag and fell, which towered in purple masses against a sky of stainless azure. Warm sunshine flooded the valley, glowing on the gold and crimson that flecked the lower beech sprays and turning the leaves of the brambles to points of ruby flame. Here and there white limestone ridges flung back the light, and the tarn gleamed like molten silver when a faint puff of wind traced a dark blue smear athwart its surface. The winding road was thick with dust, and a deep stillness brooded over everything.

By and by, however, a couple of whip-cracks rose from beyond a dip of the road and were followed by a shout in a woman's voice and a sharp clatter of iron on stone.

"Oh!" cried Mabel, when they reached the brow of the descent, "the poor thing can't get up! What a shame to give it such a load!"

The road fell sharply between ragged hedgerows, and near the foot of the hill a pony was struggling vainly to move a cart. The vehicle was heavily loaded, and while the animal strained and floundered, a woman struck it with a whip.

"Its Mrs. Hoggarth; her husband's the carrier," Mabel explained. "Come on! We must stop her! She mustn't beat the pony like that!"

Vane strode down the hill, and when they approached the cart Mabel called indignantly to the woman.

"Stop! You oughtn't to do that! The load's too heavy! Where's Hoggarth?"

Vane seized one rein close up to the bit and turned the pony until the cart was across the road. When he had done so, the woman looked around at Mabel.

"Wheel went over his foot last night. He canna get on his boot. I'm none fond of beating pony, but bank's steep and we mun gan up. The folks mun have their things."

Vane glanced at the pony, which stood with lowered head and heaving flank. It was evident that the animal could do no more.

"There's only one way out of the trouble," he said. "We must pack some of this truck to the top. What's in those bags?"

"One's oats," answered the woman. "It's four bushel. Other one's linseed cake. Those slates for Bell's new stable are the heaviest."

Carroll came up with Evelyn just then, and Vane spoke to him.

"Come here and help me with this bag!"

They had it ready at the back of the cart in a few moments, and Evelyn, who knew that a four-bushel bag of oats is difficult to move, was astonished at the ease with which they handled it. Vane got the bag upon his back and walked up the hill with it. The veins stood out on his forehead and his face grew red, but he plodded steadily on and came back for another load.

"I'll take an armful of the slates this time, Carroll. You can tackle the cake."

The cake was heavy, though the bag was not full, and when they returned,
Carroll was breathing hard and there were smears of blood on one of
Vane's hands. The old woman gazed at him in amazed admiration.

"Thank you, sir," she said. "There's not many men wad carry four bushel up a bank like that."

Vane laughed.

"I'm used to it. Now I think that we can face the hill."

He seized the rein, and after a flounder or two the pony started the load and struggled up the ascent. Leaving the woman at the top, voluble with thanks, Vane came down and sauntered on again with Mabel.

"I made sure you would drop that bag until I saw how you got hold of it, and then I knew you would manage," she informed him. "You see, I've watched the men at Scarside mill. I didn't want you to drop it."

"I wonder why?" laughed Vane.

"If you do, you must be stupid. We're friends, aren't we? I like my friends to be able to do anything that other folks can. That's partly why I took to you."

Vane made her a ceremonious bow and they went on, chatting lightly. When they came to a sweep of climbing moor, they changed companions, for Mabel led Carroll off in search of plants and ferns. Farther on, Evelyn sat down upon a heathy bank, and Vane found a place on a stone beside a trickling rill.

"It's pleasant here, and I like the sun," she explained. "Besides, it's still a good way to the top, and I generally feel discontented when I get there. There are other peaks much higher—one wants to go on."

Vane smiled in comprehension.

"Yes," he agreed. "On and always on! It's the feeling that drives the prospector. We seem to have the same thoughts on a good many points."

Evelyn did not answer this.

"I was glad you got that cart up the hill. What made you think of it?"

"The pony was played out, though it was a plucky beast. I suppose I felt sorry for it. I've been driven hard myself."

The girl's eyes softened. She had seen him use his strength, though it was, she imagined, the strength of determined will and disciplined body rather than bulk of muscle, for the man was hard and lean. The strength also was associated with a gentleness and a sympathy with the lower creation that appealed to her.

"How hard were you driven?" she asked.

"Sometimes, until I could scarcely crawl back to my tent or the sleeping-shack at night. Out yonder, construction bosses and contractors' foremen are skilled in getting the utmost value of every dollar out of a man. I've had my hands worn to raw wounds and half my knuckles bruised until it was almost impossible to bend them."

"Were you compelled to work like that?"

"I thought so. It seemed to be the custom of the country; one had to get used to it."

Evelyn hesitated a moment; though she was interested.

"But was there nothing easier? Had you no money?"

"Very little, as a rule; and what I had I tried to keep. It was to give me a start in life. It was hard to resist the temptation to use some of it now and then, but I held out." He laughed grimly. "After all, I suppose it was excellent discipline."

The girl made a sign of comprehending sympathy. There was a romance in the man's career which had its effect on her, and she could recognize the strength of will which had held him to the laborious tasks he might have shirked while the money lasted. Then a stain on the sleeve of his jacket caught her eye.

"You have hurt your hand!" she exclaimed.

Vane glanced down at his hand, which was reddened all over.

"It looks like it; those slates must have cut it."

"Hadn't you better wash it and tie it up? It seems a nasty cut."

He dipped his hand into the rill, and was fumbling awkwardly with his handkerchief when she stopped him.

"That won't do! Let me fix it for you."

Rolling up her own handkerchief, she wet it and laid it on his palm, across which a red gash ran. He had moved close to her, stooping down, and a disturbing thrill ran through him as she held his hand. Once more, however, he was troubled by a sense of compunction as he recalled his interview with Chisholm.

"Thank you," he said abruptly when she finished.

There were signs of tension in his face, and she drew a little away from him when he sat down again. For a few moments he struggled with himself. They were alone; he had her father's consent; and he knew that what he had done half an hour ago had appealed to her. But he felt that he could not plead his cause just then. With her parents on his side, she was at a disadvantage; and he shrank from the thought that she might be forced upon him against her will. This was not what he desired; and she might hate him for it afterward. She was very alluring, there had been signs of an unusual gentleness in her manner, and the light touch of her cool fingers had stirred his blood; but he wanted time to win her favor, aided only by such gifts as he had been endowed with. It cost him a determined effort, but he made up his mind to wait; and it was a relief to him when the approach of Mabel and Carroll rendered any confidential conversation out of the question.