Vane rose early the next morning, as he had been accustomed to do, and taking a towel he made his way across dewy meadows and between tall hedgerows to the tarn. Stripping where the rabbit-cropped sward met the mossy boulders, he swam out, joyously breasting the little ripples which splashed and sparkled beneath the breeze that had got up with the sun. Coming back, where the water lay in shadow beneath a larchwood which as yet had not wholly lost its vivid vernal green, he disturbed the paddling moor-hens and put up a mallard from a clump of swaying reeds. Then he dressed and turned homeward, glowing, beside a sluggish stream which wound through a waste of heather where the curlew were whistling eerily. He had no cares to trouble him, and it was delightful to feel that he had nothing to do except to enjoy himself in what he considered the fairest country in the world, at least in summertime.

Scrambling over a limestone wall tufted thick with parsley fern, he noticed Mabel stooping over an object which lay among the heather where a rough cartroad approached a wooden bridge. On joining her he saw that she was examining a finely-built canoe with a hole in one bilge. She looked up at him ruefully.

"It's sad, isn't it? That stupid Little did it with his clumsy cart."

"I think it could be mended," Vane replied.

"Old Beavan—he's the wheelwright—said it couldn't; and Dad said I could hardly expect him to send the canoe back to Kingston. He bought it for me at an exhibition."

Then a thought seemed to strike her and her eyes grew eager.

"Perhaps you had something to do with light canoes in Canada?"

"Yes; I used to pole one loaded with provisions up a river and carry the lot round several falls. If I remember, I made eight shillings a day at it, and I think I earned it. You're fond of paddling?"

"I love it! I used to row the fishing-punt, but it's too old to be safe; and now that the canoe's smashed I can't go out at all."

"Well, we'll walk across and see what we can find in Beavan's shop."

He took a few measurements, making them on a stick, and they crossed the heath to a tiny hamlet nestling in a hollow of a limestone crag. There Vane made friends with the wheelwright, who regarded him dubiously at first, and obtained a piece of larch board from him. The grizzled North Countryman watched him closely as he set a plane, which is a delicate operation, and he raised no objections when Vane made use of his work-bench. When the board had been sawed up, Vane borrowed a few tools and copper nails, and he and Mabel went back to the canoe. On the way she glanced at him curiously.

"I wasn't sure old Beavan would let you have the things," she remarked. "It isn't often he'll even lend a hammer, but he seemed to take to you; I think it was the way you handled his plane."

"It's strange what little things win some people's good opinion, isn't it?"

"Oh, don't!" exclaimed Mabel. "That's the way the Archdeacon talks. I thought you were different!"

The man acquiesced in the rebuke; and after an hour's labor at the canoe, he scraped the red lead he had used off his hands and sat down beside the craft. The sun was warm now, the dew was drying, and a lark sang riotously overhead. Vane became conscious that his companion was regarding him with what seemed to be approval.

"I really think you'll do, and we'll get on," she informed him. "If you had been the wrong kind, you would have worried about your red hands. Still, you could have rubbed them on the heather, instead of on your socks."

"I might have thought of that," Vane laughed. "But, you see, I've been accustomed to wearing old clothes. Anyway, you'll be able to launch the canoe as soon as the joint's dry."

"There's one thing I should have told you," the girl replied. "Dad would have sent the canoe away to be mended if it hadn't been so far. He's very good when things don't ruffle him; but he hasn't been fortunate lately. The lead mine takes a good deal of money."

Vane admired her loyalty, and he refrained from taking advantage of her candor, though there were one or two questions he would have liked to ask. When he was last in England, Chisholm had been generally regarded as a man of means, though it was rumored that he was addicted to hazardous speculations. Mabel, without noticing his silence, went on:

"I heard Stevens—he's the gamekeeper—tell Beavan that Dad should have been a rabbit because he's so fond of burrowing. No doubt, that meant that he couldn't keep out of mines."

Vane made no comment; and Mabel, breaking off for a moment, looked up at the rugged fells to the west and then around at the moors which cut against the blue of the morning sky.

"It's all very pretty, but it shuts one in!" she cried. "You feel you want to get out and can't! I suppose you really couldn't take me back with you to Canada?"

"I'm afraid not. If you were about ten years older, it might be possible."

Mabel grimaced.

"Oh, don't! That's the kind of thing some of Gerald's smart friends say, and it makes one want to slap them! Besides," she added naively, glancing down at her curtailed skirt, "I'm by no means so young as I appear to be. The fact is, I'm not allowed to grow up yet."

"Why?"

The girl laughed at him.

"Oh, you've lived in the woods. If you had stayed in England, you would understand."

"I'm afraid I've been injudicious," Vane answered with a show of humility. "But don't you think it's getting on toward breakfast time?"

"Breakfast won't be for a good while yet. We don't get up early. Evelyn used to, but it's different now. We used to go out on the tarn every morning, even in the wind and rain; but I suppose that's not good for one's complexion, though bothering about such things doesn't seem to me to be worth while. Aunt Julia couldn't do anything for Evelyn, though she had her in London for some time. Flora is our shining light."

"What did she do?"

"She married the Archdeacon; and he isn't so very dried up. I've seen him smile when I talked to him."

"I'm not astonished at that, Mabel," laughed Vane.

His companion looked up at him.

"My name's not Mabel—to you. I'm Mopsy to the family, but my special friends call me Mops. You're one of the few people one can be natural with, and I'm getting sick—you won't be shocked—of having to be the opposite. If you'll come along, I'll show you the setter puppies."

It was half an hour later when Vane, who had seldom had to wait so long for breakfast, sat down with an excellent appetite. The spacious room pleased him after the cramped quarters to which he had been accustomed. The sunlight that streamed in sparkled on choice old silver and glowed on freshly gathered flowers; and through the open windows mingled fragrances flowed in from the gardens. All that his gaze rested on spoke of ease and taste and leisure. Evelyn, sitting opposite him, looked wonderfully fresh in her white dress; Mopsy was as amusing as she dared to be; but Vane felt drawn back to the restless world again as he glanced at his hostess and saw the wrinkles round her eyes and a hint of cleverly hidden strain in her expression. He fancied that a good deal could be deduced from the fragments of information her younger daughter had given him.

It was Mabel who suggested that they should picnic upon the summit of a lofty hill, from which there was a striking view; and as this met with the approval of Mrs. Chisholm, who excused herself from accompanying them, they set out an hour later. The day was bright, with glaring sunshine, and a moderate breeze drove up wisps of ragged cloud that dappled the hills with flitting shadow. Towering crag and shingly scree showed blue and purple through it and then flashed again into brilliancy, while the long, grassy slopes gleamed with silvery gray and ocher.

On leaving the head of the valley they climbed leisurely up easy slopes, slipping on the crisp hill grass now and then. By and by they plunged into tangled heather on a bolder ridge, rent by black gullies, down which at times wild torrents poured. This did not trouble either of the men, who were used to forcing a passage over more rugged hillsides and through leagues of matted brush, but Vane was surprised at the ease with which Evelyn threaded her way across the heath. She wore a short skirt and stout laced boots, and he noticed the supple grace of her movements and the delicate color the wind had brought into her face. It struck him that she had somehow changed since they had left the valley. She seemed to have flung off something, and her laugh had a gay ring; but, while she smiled and chatted with him, he was still conscious of a subtle reserve in her manner.

Climbing still, they reached the haunts of the cloudberries and brushed through broad patches of the snowy blossoms that open their gleaming cups among the moss and heather. Vane gathered a handful and gave them to Evelyn.

"You should wear these. They grow only far up on the heights."

She flashed a swift glance at him, but she smiled as she drew the fragile stalks through her belt, and he felt that had it been permissible he could have elaborated the idea in his mind. They are stainless flowers, passionlessly white, that grow beyond the general reach of man, where the air is keen and pure; and, in spite of her graciousness, there was a coldness and a calm, which instead of repelling appealed to him strongly, about this girl. Mabel laughed mischievously.

"If you want to give me flowers, it had better be marsh-marigolds," she said. "They grow low down where it's slushy—but they blaze."

Carroll laughed.

"Mabel," he remarked a few moments later to Vane, "is unguarded in what she says, but she now and then shows signs of being considerably older than her years."

They left the black peat-soil behind them, and the heather gave place to thin and more fragile ling, beaded with its unopened buds, while fangs of rock cropped out here and there. Then turning the flank of a steep ascent, they reached the foot of a shingly scree, and sat down to lunch in the warm sunshine where the wind was cut off by the peak above. Beneath them, a great rift opened up among the rocks, and far beyond the blue lake in the depths of it they could catch the silver gleam of the distant sea.

The fishing creel in which the provisions had been carried was promptly emptied; and when Mabel afterward took Carroll away to climb some neighboring crags, Vane lay resting on one elbow not far from Evelyn. She was looking down the long hollow, with the sunshine, which lighted a golden sparkle in her brown eyes, falling upon her face.

"You didn't seem to mind the climb."

"I enjoyed it;" Evelyn declared, glancing at the cloudberry blossom in her belt. "I really am fond of the mountains, and I have to thank you for a day among them."

On the surface the words offered an opening for a complimentary rejoinder; but Vane was too shrewd to seize it. He had made one venture, and he surmised that a second one would not please her.

"They're almost at your door. One would imagine that you could indulge in a scramble among them whenever it pleased you."

"There are a good many things that look so close and still are out of reach," Evelyn answered with a smile that somehow troubled him. Then her manner changed. "You are content with this?"

Vane gazed about him. Purple crags lay in shadow; glistening threads of water fell among the rocks; and long slopes lay steeped in softest color under the cloud-flecked summer sky.

"Content is scarcely the right word for it," he assured her, "If it weren't so still and serene up here, I'd be riotously happy. There are reasons for this quite apart from the scenery; for one, it's remarkably pleasant to feel that I need do nothing but what I like during the next few months."

"The sensation must be unusual. I wonder if, even in your case, it will last so long?"

Vane laughed and stretched out one of his hands. It was lean and brown, and she could see the marks of old scars on the knuckles.

"In my case," he answered, "it has come only once in a lifetime, and, if it isn't too presumptuous, I think I've earned it." He indicated his battered fingers. "That's the result of holding a wet and slippery drill; and those aren't the only marks I carry about with me—though I've been more fortunate than many fine comrades."

Evelyn noticed something that pleased her in his voice as he concluded.

"I suppose one must get hurt now and then," she responded. "After all, a bruise that's only skin-deep doesn't trouble one long, and no doubt some scars are honorable. It's slow corrosion that's the deadliest."

She broke off with a laugh.

"Moralizing's out of place on a day like this," she added; "and such days are not frequent in the North. That's their greatest charm."

Vane nodded. He knew the sad gray skies of his native land, when its lonely heights are blurred by driving snow-cloud or scourged by bitter rain for weeks together, though now and then they tower serenely into the blue heavens, steeped in ethereal splendor. Once more it struck him that in their latter aspect his companion resembled them. Made finely, of warm flesh and blood, she was yet ethereal too. There was something aloof and intangible about her that seemed in harmony with the hills among which she was born.

"Yes," he agreed. "On the face of it, the North is fickle; though to those who know it that's a misleading term. To some of us it's always the same, and its dark grimness makes one feel the radiance of its smile. For all that, I think we're going to see a sudden change in the weather."

Long wisps of leaden cloud began to stream across the crags above, intensifying, until it seemed unnatural, the glow of light and color on the rest.

"I wonder if Mopsy is leading Mr. Carroll into any mischief? They have been gone some time," said Evelyn. "She has a trick of getting herself and other people into difficulties. I suppose he is an old friend of yours, as you brought him over; unless, perhaps, he's acting as your secretary."

Vane's eyes twinkled.

"If he came in any particular capacity, it's as bear-leader. You see, there are a good many things I've forgotten in the bush, and, as I left this country young, there are no doubt some that I never learned."

"And so you make Mr. Carroll your confidential adviser. How did he gain the necessary experience?"

"That is more than I can tell you; but I'm inclined to believe he has been at one of the universities—Toronto, most likely. Anyhow, on the whole he acts as a judicious restraint."

"But don't you really know anything about him?"

"Only what some years of close companionship have taught me, though I think that's enough. For the rest, I took him on trust."

Evelyn looked surprised, and he spread out his hands in a humorous manner.

"A good many people have had to take me in that way, and they seemed willing to do so—the thing's not uncommon in the West. Why should I be more particular than they were?"

Just then Mabel and Carroll appeared. The latter's garments were stained in places, as if he had been scrambling over mossy rocks, and his pockets bulged. Mabel's skirt was torn, while a patch of white skin showed through her stocking.

"We've found some sun-dew and two ferns I don't know, as well as all sorts of other things," she announced.

"That's correct," vouched Carroll dryly; "I've got them. I guess they're going to fill up most of the creel."

Mabel superintended their transfer, and then addressed the others generally.

"I think we ought to go up the Pike now, when we have the chance. It isn't much of a climb from here: and we'll have rain before to-morrow. Besides, the quickest way back to the road is across the top and down the other side."

Evelyn agreed, and they set out, following a sheep path which skirted the screes, until they left the bank of sharp stones behind and faced a steep ascent. Parts of it necessitated a breathless scramble, and the sunlight faded from the hills as they climbed, while thicker wisps of cloud drove across the ragged summit. They reached the top at length and stopped, bracing themselves against a rush of chilly breeze, while they looked down upon a wilderness of leaden-colored rock. Long trails of mist were creeping in and out among the crags, and here and there masses of it gathered round the higher slopes.

"I think the Pike's grandest in this weather," Mabel declared. "Look below, Mr. Carroll, and you'll see the mountain's like a starfish. It has prongs running out from it."

Carroll did as she directed him, and noticed three diverging ridges springing off from the shoulders of the peak. Their crests, which were narrow, led down toward the valley, but their sides fell in rent and fissured crags to great black hollows.

"You can get down two of them," Mabel went on. "The first is the nearest to the road, but the third's the easiest. It takes you to the Hause—that's the gap between it and the next big hill. You must be a climber to try the middle one."

A few big drops began to fall, and Evelyn cut her sister's explanations short.

"It strikes me that we'd better make a start at once," she said.

They set out, Mabel and Carroll leading, and drawing farther away from the two behind. The rain began in earnest as they descended. Rock slope and scattered stones were slippery, and Vane found it difficult to keep his footing on some of their lichened surfaces. He was relieved, however, to see that his companion seldom hesitated, and they made their way downward cautiously, until near the spot where the three ridges diverged they walked into a belt of drifting mist. The peak above them was suddenly blotted out, and Evelyn bade Vane hail Carroll and Mabel, who had disappeared. He sent a shout ringing through the vapor, and caught a faint and unintelligible answer. A flock of sheep fled past and dislodged a rush of sliding stones. Vane heard the stones rattle far down the hillside, and when he called again a blast of chilly wind whirled his voice away. There was a faint echo above him and then silence.

"It looks as if they were out of hearing; and the slope ahead of us seems uncommonly steep by the way those stones went down. Do you think Mabel has taken Carroll down the Stanghyll ridge?"

"I can't tell," answered Evelyn. "It's comforting to remember that she knows it better than I do. I think we ought to make for the Hause; there's only one place that's really steep. Keep up to the left a little; the Scale Crags must be close beneath us."

They moved on circumspectly, skirting what seemed to be a pit of profound depth in which dim vapors whirled, while the rain, growing thicker, beat into their faces.