On the evening after his arrival in Vancouver, Vane, who took Carroll with him, paid a visit to one of his directors and, in accordance with the invitation, reached the latter’s dwelling some little time before the arrival of other guests, whose acquaintance it was considered advisable that he should make.
Vane and his companion were ushered into a small room with an uncovered floor and simple, hardwood furniture. It was obviously a working room, for, as a rule, the work of the Western business man goes on continuously except when he is asleep; but a somewhat portly lady with a good-humoured face reclined in a rocking-chair. A gaunt, elderly man of rugged appearance rose from his seat at a writing-table as his guests entered.
“So ye have come at last,” he said. “I had you shown in here, because this room is mine, and I can smoke when I like. The rest of the house is Mrs. Nairn’s, and it seems that her friends do not appreciate the smell of my cigars. I’m not sure that I can blame them.”
Mrs. Nairn smiled placidly. “Alec,” she explained, “leaves them lying everywhere, and I do not like the stubs on the stairs. But sit ye down and he will give ye one.”
Vane felt at home with both of them. He had met people of their kind before, and, allowing for certain idiosyncrasies, considered them the salt of the Dominion. Nairn had done good service to his adopted country, developing her new industries, with some profit to himself, for he was of Scottish extraction; but while close at a bargain he could be generous afterwards. When his guests were seated he laid two cigar boxes on the table.
“Those,” he said, pointing to one of them, “are mine. I think ye had better try the others; they’re for visitors.”
Vane, who had already noticed the aroma of the cigar that was smouldering on a tray, decided that he was right, and dipped his hand into the second box, which he passed to Carroll.
“Now,” said Nairn, “we can talk comfortably, and Clara will listen. Afterwards it’s possible she will favour me with her opinion.”
Mrs. Nairn smiled at them encouragingly, and her husband proceeded: “One or two of my colleagues were no pleased at ye for putting off the meeting.”
“The sloop was small, and it was blowing rather hard,” Vane explained.
“Maybe,” said Nairn. “For all that, the tone of your message was not altogether conciliatory. It informed us that ye would arrange for the postponed meeting at your earliest convenience. Ye didna mention ours.”
“I pointed that out to him, and he said it didn’t matter,” Carroll broke in, laughing.
Nairn spread out his hands in expostulation, but there was dry appreciation in his eyes. “Young blood must have its way.” Then he paused. “Ye will not have said anything to Horsfield yet about the smelter?”
“No. So far, I’m not sure it would pay us to put up the plant, and the other man’s terms were lower.”
“Maybe,” Nairn answered, and he made the word very expressive. “Ye have had the handling of the thing; but henceforward it will be necessary to get the sanction of the board. However, ye will meet Horsfield to-night. We expect him and his sister.”
Vane thought he had been favoured with a hint, but he also fancied that his host was not inimical and was merely reserving his judgment. The latter changed the subject.
“So ye’re going to England for a holiday,” he remarked. “Ye’ll have friends who’ll be glad to see ye?”
“I’ve one sister and no other near relatives, but I expect to spend some time with folks you know. The Chisholms are old family friends and, as you will remember, it was through them I first approached you.” Then obeying one of the impulses which occasionally swayed him he turned to Mrs. Nairn. “I’m grateful to them for sending me the letter of introduction to your husband. He didn’t treat me as the others did when I first went round this city with a few mineral specimens.”
He had expected nothing when he spoke, but there was a responsive look in the lady’s face which hinted that he had made a friend; and as a matter of fact, he owed a good deal to his host.
“So ye are meaning to stay with Chisholm,” Nairn exclaimed. “We had Evelyn here two years ago and Clara said something about her coming out again.”
“I never heard of that, but it’s nine years since I saw Evelyn.”
“Then there’s a surprise in store for ye,” said Nairn. “I believe they’ve a bonny place, and there’s no doubt Chisholm will make ye welcome.”
The slight pause was expressive. It implied that Nairn, who had a somewhat biting humour, could furnish a reason for Chisholm’s hospitality if he desired, and Vane was confirmed in this supposition when he saw the warning look which his hostess cast at her husband.
“It’s likely that we’ll have Evelyn again in the fall,” she broke in. “It’s a very small world, Mr. Vane.”
“It’s a far cry from Vancouver to England,” said Vane. “How did you come to know Chisholm?”
Nairn answered him. “Our acquaintance began with business, and he’s a kind of connection of Colquhoun’s.”
Colquhoun was a man of some importance, who held a Crown appointment, and Vane felt inclined to wonder why Chisholm had not sent him a letter to him. Afterwards he guessed at the reason, which was not flattering to himself or his host. The latter and he chatted awhile on business topics, until there was a sound of voices below, and going down in company with Mrs. Nairn they found two or three new arrivals in the entrance hall. More came in, and when they sat down to supper, Vane was given a place beside a lady whom he had already met.
Jessie Horsfield was about his own age; tall and slight of figure, with regular features, a rather colourless face, and eyes of a cold, light blue. There was, however, something which Vane considered striking in her appearance, and he was gratified by her graciousness to him. Her brother sat almost opposite to them, a tall, spare man, with an expressionless countenance, except for the aggressive hardness in his eyes. Vane had noticed this look in them, and it had roused his dislike; but he had not observed it in those of Miss Horsfield, though it was present now and then. Nor did he realise that while she chatted, she was unobtrusively studying him; She had not favoured him with much notice when she was in his company on a previous occasion; he had been a man of no importance then.
“I suppose you are glad you have finished your work in the bush,” she remarked presently. “It must be nice to get back to civilisation.”
“Yes,” Vane assented; “it’s remarkably nice after living for nine years in the wilderness.”
A fresh dish was laid before him, and his companion smiled. “You didn’t get things of this kind among the pines.”
“No,” said Vane. “In fact, cookery is one of the chopper’s trials. You come back dead tired, and often very wet, to your lonely tent, and then there’s a fire to make and supper to get before you can rest. It happens now and then that you’re too played out to trouble, and go to sleep instead.”
“Dreadful,” said the girl, sympathetically. “But you have been in Vancouver before.”
“Except on the last occasion, I stayed down near the water-front. We were not provided with luxurious quarters or suppers of this kind then.”
Jessie nodded. “It’s romantic, and though you must be glad it’s over, there must be some satisfaction in feeling that you owe the change to your own efforts. Doesn’t it give you a feeling that in some degree you’re master of your fate? I fancy I should like that.”
It was subtle flattery, and there were reasons why it appealed to the man. He had wandered about the province in search of employment, besides being beaten down at many a small bargain by more fortunately situated men. Now, however, he had resolved that there should be a difference: instead of begging favours, he would dictate terms.
“I should have imagined it,” he said, in answer to her last remark, and he was right, for Jessie Horsfield was a clever woman, who loved power and influence. Then she abruptly changed the subject.
“It was you who located the Clermont mine, wasn’t it?” she asked. “I read something about it in the papers; I think they said it was copper.”
This vagueness was misleading, because her brother had given her a good deal of information about the mine.
“Yes,” said Vane, who was willing to take up any subject she suggested; “it’s copper, but there’s some silver combined with it. Of course, the value of any ore depends upon two things—the percentage of the metal, and the cost of extracting it.”
She waited with flattering interest, and he added: “In both respects, Clermont produce is promising.”
After that he did not remember what they talked about; but the time passed rapidly and he was surprised when Mrs. Nairn rose and the company drifted away by twos and threes towards the verandah. Left by himself a moment, he came upon Carroll sauntering down a corridor, and the latter stopped him.
“I’ve had a chat with Horsfield,” he remarked.
“Well?” said Vane.
“He may have merely meant to make himself agreeable, and he may have wished to extract information about you. If the latter was his object, he was not successful.”
“Ah!” said Vane thoughtfully. “Nairn’s straight, anyway, and to be relied upon. I like him and his wife.”
“So do I,” Carroll agreed.
He moved away, and a few moments later Horsfield joined Vane, who had strolled out on to the verandah.
“I don’t know if it’s a very suitable time to mention it, but are you any nearer a decision about that smelter yet?” he said. “Candidly, I’d like the contract.”
“No,” said Vane. “I can’t make up my mind, and I may postpone the matter indefinitely. It might prove more profitable to ship the ore out for reduction.”
Horsfield examined his cigar. “Of course, I can’t press you; but I may perhaps suggest that as we’ll have to work together in other matters, I might be able to give you aquid pro quo.”
“That occurred to me,” said Vane, “On the other hand, I don’t know how much importance I ought to attach to the consideration.”
His companion laughed with apparent good-humour. “Oh, well!” he answered, “I must wait until you’re ready.”
He strolled away, and presently joined his sister.
“How does Vane strike you?” he asked. “You seem to get on with him.”
"I’ve an idea that you won’t find him easy to influence, and the girl looked at her brother pointedly.
“I’m inclined to agree with you,” said Horsfield. “In spite of that, he’s a man worth cultivating.”
He passed on to speak to Nairn, and by and by Vane sat down beside Jessie in a corner of a big room. It was simply furnished, but spacious and lofty and looked out across the verandah. It was pleasant to lounge there and feel that Miss Horsfield had good-naturedly taken him under her wing, which seemed to describe her attitude.
“As Mrs. Nairn tells me you are going to England, I suppose we shall not see you in Vancouver for some months,” she said presently. “This city really isn’t a bad place to live in.”
Vane felt gratified. She implied that he would be an acquisition and included him among the number of her acquaintances. “I fancy I shall find it a particularly pleasant one,” he responded. “Indeed, I’m inclined to be sorry I’ve made arrangements to leave it very shortly.”
“That is pure good-nature,” his companion laughed.
She changed the subject, and Vane found her conversation entertaining. She said nothing of any consequence, but she knew how to make a glance or a changed inflection expressive. He was sorry when she left him, but she smiled at him before she moved away.
“If you and Mr. Carroll care to call, I am generally at home in the afternoon,” she said.
She crossed the room, and Vane, who joined Nairn, remained near him until he took his departure.
It was late the next afternoon, and an Empress liner from China and Japan had arrived an hour or two earlier, when he and Carroll reached the C.P.R. station. The Atlantic train was waiting, and an unusual number of passengers were hurrying about the cars. They were, for the most part, prosperous people, business men and tourists from England, going home that way, and when Vane found Mrs. Marvin and Kitty, he was once more conscious of a stirring of compassion. Kitty smiled at him diffidently.
“You have been so kind,” she began, and, pausing, added with a tremor in her voice: “But the tickets—-”
“Pshaw!” said Vane. “If it will ease your mind, you can send me what they cost after the first full house you draw.”
“How shall we address you?”
“Clermont Mineral Exploitation. I don’t want to think I’m going to lose sight of you.”
Kitty turned away from him a moment, and then looked back.
“I’m afraid you must make up your mind to that,” she said.
Vane could not remember his answer, though he afterwards tried; but just then an official strode along beside the cars calling to the passengers, and when a bell began tolling Vane hurried the girl and her companions on to a platform. Mrs. Marvin entered the car, Elsie held up her face to kiss him before she disappeared, and he and Kitty were left alone. She held out her hand, and a liquid gleam crept into her eyes.
“We can’t thank you properly,” she said. “Good-bye.”
“No,” Vane protested. “You mustn’t say that.”
“Yes,” said Kitty firmly. “It’s good-bye. You’ll be carried on in a moment.”
Vane gazed down at her, and afterwards wondered at what he did; but she looked so forlorn and desolate, and the pretty face was so close to him. Stooping swiftly, he kissed her, and had a thrilling fancy that she did not recoil; then the cars lurched forward, and he swung himself down.
A month had passed since Vane said good-bye to Kitty, when he and Carroll alighted one evening at a little station in the north of England.
The train went on, and Vane stood still, looking about him with a poignant recollection of how he had last waited on that platform, sick at heart, but gathering his youthful courage for the effort that he must make. It all came back to him; the dejection, the sense of loneliness; for he was then going out to the Western Dominion in which he had not a friend. Now he was returning prosperous and successful. But once again the feeling of loneliness was with him—most of those whom he had left behind had made a longer journey than his.
Then he noticed an elderly man in livery approaching, and held out his hand with a smile of pleasure.
“You haven’t changed a bit, Jim,” he said.
“A bit stiffer in the joints, and maybe a bit sourer,” was the answer; then the man’s wrinkled face relaxed. “I’m main glad to see thee, Mr. Wallace. Master wad have come, only he‘d t’ gan t’ Manchester suddenly.”
Vane helped him to place their baggage in the trap, and then, gathering up the reins, bade him sit behind. After half an hour’s ride through a country rolled in ridge and valley, Vane pulled up where a stile path led across a strip of meadow.
“You can drive round; we’ll be there before you,” he said to the groom as he got down.
Carroll and he crossed the meadow, and passing round a clump of larches, came suddenly into sight of an old grey house with a fir wood rolling down the hillside close behind it. The building was long and low, weather-worn and stained with lichens where the creepers and climbing roses left the stone exposed. The bottom row of mullioned windows opened upon a terrace, and in front of the latter ran a low wall with a mossy coping on which was placed urns bright with geraniums. It was pierced by an opening approached by shallow stairs on which a peacock stood, and between them and the two men stretched a sweep of lawn. A couple of minutes later a lady met them in the hall, and held out her hand to Vane effusively. She was middle-aged, and had once been handsome, Carroll thought, but there were wrinkles about her eyes, which had a hint of hardness in them.
“Welcome home, Wallace,” she said. “It should not be difficult to look upon the Dene as that—you were here so often once upon a time.”
“Thank you,” said Vane. “I felt tempted to ask Jim to drive me round by the Low Wood; I wanted to see the place again.”
“I’m glad you didn’t,” and the lady smiled sympathetically. “The house is shut up and going to pieces. It would have been depressing to-night.”
Vane presented Carroll. Mrs. Chisholm’s manner was gracious; but for no particular reason Carroll wondered if she would have extended the same welcome to either, had his comrade not come back the discoverer of a mine.
“Tom was sorry he couldn’t wait to meet you, but he had to leave for Manchester on some urgent business,” she informed Vane, and looked round as a girl with disordered hair came up to them.
“This is Mabel,” she said. “I hardly think you will remember her.”
“I’ve carried her across the meadow,” smilingly remarked Vane.
The girl greeted the strangers demurely, and favoured Vane with a critical gaze. “So you’re Wallace Vane—who found the Clermont mine. Though I don’t remember you, I’ve heard a good deal about you lately. Very pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Vane’s eyes twinkled as he shook hands with her. Her manner was quaintly formal, but he fancied there was a spice of mischief hidden behind it, and in the meanwhile Carroll, watching his hostess, surmised that her daughter’s remarks had not altogether pleased her. She, however, chatted with them until the man who had driven them appeared with their baggage, when they were shown their respective rooms.
Vane was the first to go down, and reaching the hall found nobody there, though a clatter of dishes and clink of silver suggested that a meal was being laid out in an adjoining room. Sitting down near the hearth, he looked about him.
His eyes rested on many objects that he recognised, but as his glance travelled to and fro it occurred to him that much of what he saw conveyed a hint that economy was needful.
By and by he heard a patter of feet, and looking up saw a girl descending the stairs in the fading stream of light. She was clad in trailing white, which gleamed against the dark oak and rustled softly as it flowed about a tall, finely-outlined and finely-poised figure. She had hair of dark brown with paler lights in its curling tendrils, gathered back from a neck that showed a faintly warmer whiteness, than the snowy fabric beneath it. It was, however, her face which seized Vane’s attention; the level brows, the quiet, deep brown eyes, the straight, cleanly-cut nose, and the subtle suggestion of steadfastness and pride which they all conveyed. He rose with a cry that had pleasure and eagerness in it: “Evelyn!”
She came down, moving lightly but, as he noticed, with a rhythmic grace, and laid a firm, cool hand in his.
“I’m glad to see you back, Wallace,” she said. “But you have changed.”
“I’m not sure that’s kind. In some ways you haven’t changed at all; I would have known you anywhere.”
“Nine years is a long time to remember any one.”
Vane had seen few women during that period; but he was not a fool, and he recognised that this was no occasion for an attempt at gallantry. There was nothing coquettish in Evelyn’s words, nor were they ironical. She had answered in the tranquil, matter-of-fact manner which, as he remembered, usually characterised her.
“It’s a little while since you landed, isn’t it?” she added.
“A week,” said Vane. “I’d some business in London, and then I went on to look up Lucy. She had just gone up to town, and I missed her. I shall go up again to see her as soon as she answers my note.”
“It won’t be necessary. She’s coming here for a fortnight very soon.”
“That’s kind,” said Vane. “Whom have I to thank for suggesting it?”
“Does it matter? It was a natural thing to ask your only sister—who is a friend of mine. We have plenty of room, and the place is quiet.”
“It used not to be. If I remember, your mother generally had it full part of the year.”
“Things have changed,” said Evelyn quietly.
Vane was baffled by something in her manner. Evelyn had never been effusive—that was not her way—but now, while she was cordial, she did not seem disposed to resume their acquaintance where it had been broken off. After all, he could hardly have expected this.
“Mabel is like you, as you used to be,” he said. “It struck me as soon as I saw her; but when she began to talk there was a difference.”
“Yes,” she said. “I think you’re right in both respects. Mopsy has the courage of her convictions. She’s an open rebel.”
There was no bitterness in her tone. Evelyn’s manner was never pointed, but Vane fancied that she had said a meaning thing, one that might explain what he found puzzling in her attitude, when he held the key to it. Then she went on: “Mopsy was dubious about you before you arrived, but I’m pleased to say she now seems reassured.”
Then Carroll came down, and a few moments later Mrs. Chisholm appeared and they went in to dinner in a low-ceilinged room. Nobody said anything of importance, but by and by Mabel turned to Vane.
“I suppose you have brought your pistols with you,” she said.
“I never owned one,” Vane informed her.
The girl looked at him with an excellent assumption of incredulity. “Then you have never shot anybody in British Columbia?”
Carroll laughed, as if this greatly pleased him, but Vane’s face was rather grave as he answered her.
“No,” he said. “I’m thankful I haven’t.”
“Then the West must be getting what the Archdeacon—he’s Flora’s husband, you know—calls decadent,” the girl retorted.
“She’s incorrigible,” Mrs. Chisholm interposed with a smile.
Carroll, who was sitting next to Mabel, leaned towards her confidentially. “In case you feel badly disappointed, I’ll let you into a secret,” he said. “When we feel real savage, we take the axe instead.”
Evelyn fancied that Vane winced at this, but Mabel looked openly regretful.
“Can either of you pick up a handkerchief going at full gallop on horseback?” she inquired.
“I’m sorry I can’t, and I’ve never seen Wallace do so,” Carroll answered, laughing, and Mrs. Chisholm shook her head at her daughter.
“Miss Clifford complained of your inattention to the study of English last quarter,” she said severely.
Mabel made no answer, though Vane thought it would have relieved her to grimace, and by and by the meal came to an end. Some time afterwards, Mrs. Chisholm rose from her seat in the drawing-room.
“We keep early hours at the Dene, but you will retire when you like,” she said. “As Tom is away, I had better tell you that you will find syphons and whisky in the smoking-room. I have had the lamp lighted.”
“Thank you,” Vane replied with a smile. “I’m afraid you have taken more trouble on our account than you need have done. Except on special occasions we have generally confined ourselves to strong green tea.”
Mabel looked at him in amazement. “Oh!” she said, “the West is certainly decadent. You should be here when the otter hounds are out. Why, it was only—-”
She broke off abruptly beneath her mother’s withering glance, and when they were left alone, Vane and Carroll strolled out upon the terrace, pipe in hand.
“I suppose you could put in a few weeks here,” Vane remarked.
“I could,” Carroll replied. “There’s an—atmosphere—about these old houses that appeals to me, perhaps because we have nothing like it in Canada. Besides, I think your friends mean to make things pleasant.”
“I’m glad you like them.”
Carroll understood that his comrade would not resent a candid expression of opinion. “I do; the girls in particular. They interest me. The younger one’s of a type that’s common in our country, though it’s generally given room for free development into something useful there. Mabel’s chaffing at the curb. It remains to be seen if she’ll kick, and hurt herself in doing so, presently.”
Vane, who remembered that Evelyn had said something to the same effect, had already discovered that Carroll possessed a keen insight in certain matters.
“And her sister?” he suggested.
“You won’t mind my saying that I’m inclined to be sorry for her? She has learned repression—been driven into line. That girl has character, but it’s being cramped and stunted. You live in walled-in compartments in this country.”
Vane strolled along the terrace thoughtfully. He was not offended, and he understood his companion’s attitude. Like other men of education and good upbringing, driven by unrest or disaster to the untrammelled life of the bush, Carroll had gained sympathy as well as knowledge. Facing facts candidly, he seldom indulged in decided protest against any of them. On the other hand, Vane was on occasion liable to outbreaks of indignation.
“Well,” said the latter at length, “I guess it’s time to go to bed.”
Vane rose early next morning, as he had been accustomed to do, and taking a towel with him 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 larch wood, which as yet had not wholly lost its vivid green, he disturbed the paddling moor-hens and put up a mallard from a clump of swaying reeds. Then he dressed and turned homewards.
Scrambling over a limestone wall tufted thick with parsley fern, he noticed Mabel stooping down over an object which lay among the heather where a rough cartroad approached a wooden bridge. On joining her, he saw that it was a finely-built canoe with a hole in one bilge she was examining. She looked up at him ruefully, as she said, “Very 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. “Perhaps you had something to do with canoes in Canada?”
“I used to pole one loaded with provisions up a river, and carry the lot round several falls. 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 the canoe’s smashed I can’t go out.”
“Well,” said Vane, “we’ll walk across and see what we can find in Beavan’s shop.”
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 then raised no objection when Vane made use of his work bench. After that, Vane, who had sawn up the board, 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 lend even 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,” she exclaimed. “That’s how the Archdeacon talks. I thought you were different.”
The man acquiesced in the rebuke, and after an hour’s labour at the canoe, scraped the red lead he had used off his hands, and sat down beside the craft. By and by he 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 agreed. “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 refrained from taking advantage of her candour, 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 rumoured that he was addicted to hazardous speculations. Mabel, who did not seem to mind 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 he couldn’t keep out of mines.”
Vane made no comment, and to change the subject, reminded her: “Don’t you think it’s getting on for breakfast time?”
“It won’t be for a good while yet. We don’t get up early, and though Evelyn used to, it’s different now. We went out on the tarn every morning, even in the rain; but I suppose that’s not good for one’s complexion, though bothering about such things doesn’t seem 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?” Vane inquired.
“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.”
His companion looked up at him demurely. “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 at that—of having to be the opposite.”
Half an hour later, Vane, who had seldom had to wait so long for it, sat down to breakfast. All he saw spoke of ease and taste and leisure. Evelyn, who sat opposite him, looked wonderfully fresh in her white dress. Mopsy was as amusing as she dared to be; but he 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 a good deal could be inferred from the fragments of information her youngest daughter had let drop.
It was the latter 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.
Vane carried the provisions in a fishing-creel, and 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, which was rent by black gullies, down which at times wild torrents poured. This did not trouble either of the men, but Vane was surprised at the ease with which Evelyn threaded her way across the heath. She wore a short skirt, and he noticed the supple grace of her movements and the delicate colour the wind had brought into her face. She had changed since they left the valley. She seemed to have flung off something, and her laugh had a gayer ring; but while she chatted with him he was still conscious of a subtle reserve in her manner.
Climbing still, they reached the haunts of the cloud-berries and brushed through broad patches of the snowy blossoms that open their gleaming cups among the moss and heather.
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 caught the silver gleam of the distant sea.
The creel was promptly emptied, and when Mabel afterwards took Carroll away to see if he could get up a chimney in some neighbouring crags, Vane lay resting on one elbow not far from Evelyn. She was looking down the long hollow, with the sunshine upon her face.
“You didn’t seem to mind the climb,” he said.
“I enjoyed it. I 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,” he said. “One would imagine you could indulge in a scramble among them whenever if 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; at purple crags in shadow, glistening threads of water that fell among the rocks, and long slopes that lay steeped in softest colour, under the summer sky.
“Content is scarcely the right word for it,” he assured her. “If it wasn’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 pleasant to feel that I need do nothing but what I like for 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 only come 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, but those aren’t the only marks I carry about with me—though I’ve been more fortunate than many fine comrades.”
“I suppose one must get hurt now and then,” said Evelyn, who had noticed something that pleased her in his voice as he concluded. “After all, a bruise that’s only skin-deep doesn’t trouble one long, and no doubt some scars are honourable. It’s slow corrosion that’s the deadliest.” She broke off with a laugh, and added: “Moralising’s out of place on a day like this, and they’re not frequent in the North. In a way, that’s their greatest charm.”
Vane nodded.
“Yes,” he said. “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 you feel the radiance of its smile. For all that, I think we’re going to see a sudden change in the weather.”
Half of the wide circle their view would have commanded was cut off by the scree, but long wisps of leaden cloud began to stream across the crags above, intensifying, until it seemed unnatural, the glow of light and colour 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, 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 I never learned.”
“And so you make Mr. Carroll your confidential adviser. How did he gain the necessary experience?”
“That,” replied Vane, “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.”
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.
“We’ve found some sundew and two ferns I don’t know, as well as all sorts of other things,” she announced.
“That’s correct,” said Carroll; “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. 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 latter at length and stopped, bracing themselves against a rush of chilly breeze, while they looked down upon a wilderness of leaden-coloured 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 is 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 shoulder of the peak. Their crests, which were narrow, led down towards 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 hill.”
A few big drops began to fall, and Evelyn cut her sister’s explanations short.
“We had better make a start at once,” she said.
They set out, Mabel and Carroll leading and drawing farther away from the two behind; and 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, however, was relieved to see that his companion seldom hesitated, and they made their way downwards 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 vapour, and caught a faint and unintelligible reply, after which a flock of sheep fled past and dislodged a rush of sliding stones. Vane heard the latter 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 again.
“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,” he remarked. “Do you think Mabel has taken Carroll down the Stanghyll ridge?”
“I can’t tell,” said 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 cautiously, skirting what seemed to be a pit of profound depth in which dim vapours whirled, while the rain, which grew thicker, beat into their faces.
The weather was not the only thing that troubled Vane as he stumbled on through the mist. Any unathletic tourist from the cities could have gone up without much difficulty by the way they had ascended, but it was different coming down on the opposite side of the mountain. There, their route laid across banks of sharp-pointed stones that rested lightly on the steep slope, interspersed with out-cropping rocks which were growing dangerously slippery; and a wilderness of crags pierced by three great radiating chasms lay beneath.
After half an hour’s arduous scramble, he decided that they must be close upon the top of the last rift, and stood still for a minute looking about him. The mist was now so thick that he could scarcely see thirty yards ahead, but the way it drove past him indicated that it was blowing up a hollow. On one hand a rampart of hillside loomed dimly out of it; in front there was a dark patch that looked like the face of a dripping rock; and between the latter and the hill a boggy stretch of grass ran back into the vapour. Then he turned, and glanced at Evelyn with some concern. Her skirt was heavy with moisture, and the rain dripped from the brim of her hat, but she smiled at him reassuringly.
“It’s not the first time I’ve got wet,” she said.
Vane felt relieved on one account. He had imagined that a woman hated to feel draggled and untidy, and he was willing to own that in his case fatigue usually tended towards shortness of temper. Though the scramble had scarcely taxed his powers, he fancied that Evelyn, had already done as much as one could expect of her.
“I must prospect about a bit,” he said. “Scardale’s somewhere below us; but if I remember, it’s an awkward descent to the head of it, and I’m not sure of the right entrance to the Hause.”
“I’ve only once been down this way, and that was a long while ago,” Evelyn replied.
Vane left her, and plodded away across the grass. When he had grown scarcely distinguishable in the haze, he turned and waved his hand.
“I know where we are; the head of the beck’s close by,” he cried.
Evelyn joined him at the edge of a trickle of water splashing in a peaty hollow, and they followed it down, seeing only odd strips of hillside amidst the vapour, until at length the ground grew softer and Vane, going first, sank among the long green moss almost to his knees.
“That won’t do. Stand still, please,” he said. “I’ll try a little to the right.”
He tried in one or two directions; but wherever he went he sank over his boots, and, coming back, he informed his companion that they had better go straight ahead.
“I know there’s no bog worth speaking of; the Hause is a regular tourist track,” he added, and suddenly stripped off his jacket. “First of all, you’ll put this on; I’m sorry I didn’t think of it before.”
Evelyn demurred, and he rolled up the jacket. “You have to choose between doing what I ask and watching me pitch it into the beck,” he declared. “I’m a rather determined person, and it would be a pity to throw the thing away, particularly as the rain hasn’t got through it yet.”
She yielded, and after he had held up the garment while she put it on, he spoke again:
“There’s another thing; I’m going to carry you for the next hundred yards, or possibly farther.”
“No,” said Evelyn firmly. “On that point my determination is as strong as yours.”
Vane made a sign of acquiescence. “You can have your way for a minute; I expect it will be long enough.”
He was correct, Evelyn moved forward a pace or two, and then stopped with the skirt she had gathered up brushing the quivering emerald moss, and her boots, which were high ones, hidden in the latter. She had some difficulty in pulling them out. Then Vane coolly picked her up.
“All you have to do is to keep still for the next few minutes,” he informed her in a most matter-of-fact voice.
Evelyn did not move, though had he shown any sign of self-conscious hesitation she would at once have shaken herself loose. He was conscious of a thrill and a certain stirring of his blood, but this, he decided, must be sternly ignored, and his task occupied most of his attention. It was not an easy one, and he stumbled once or twice, but he accomplished it and set the girl down safely on firmer ground.
“Now,” he said, “there’s only the drop to the dale, but we must endeavour to keep out of the beck.”
His voice and air were unembarrassed, though he was breathless, and Evelyn fancied that in this and the incident of the jacket he had revealed the forceful, natural manners of the West. It was the first glimpse she had had of them, though she had watched for one, and she was not displeased. The man had merely done what was most advisable, with practical sense.
A little farther on, a shoot of falling water swept out of the mist above and came splashing down a crag, spread out in frothing threads. It flowed across their path, reunited in a deep gully which they sprang across, and then fell tumultuously into the beck, which was now ten or twelve feet below on one side of them. They clung to the rock as they traced it downwards, stepping cautiously from ledge to ledge. At times a stone plunged into the mist beneath them, and Vane grasped the girl’s arm or held out a steadying hand, but he was never fussy or needlessly concerned. When she wanted help, it was offered at the right moment; but that was all, and she thought that had she been alarmed, which was not the case, her companion’s manner would have been more comforting than persistent solicitude. He was, she decided, one who could be relied upon in an emergency.
Though caution was still necessary, the next stage of the journey was easier, and by and by they reached a winding dale. They followed it downwards, splashing through water part of the time, and at length came into sight of a cluster of little houses standing between a river and a big fir wood.
“It must be getting on towards evening,” said Evelyn. “Mopsy and Carroll probably went down the Ridge, and as it runs out lower down the valley, they’ll be almost at home.”
“It’s six o’clock,” said Vane, glancing at his watch. “You can’t walk home in the rain, and it’s a long while since lunch. If Adam Bell and his wife are still at the ‘Golden Fleece,’ we’ll get something to eat there and borrow you dry clothes. He’ll drive us home afterwards.”
Evelyn made no objections. She was very wet and beginning to feel weary, and they were some distance from home. She restored him his jacket, and a few minutes later they entered an old hostelry which, like many others among these hills, was a farm as well as an inn. The landlady, who recognised Vane with pleased surprise, took Evelyn away with her, and afterwards provided Vane with some of her husband’s clothes. Then she lighted a fire, and when she had laid out a meal in the guest-room, Evelyn came in, attired in a dress of lilac print.
“It’s Maggie Bell’s,” she explained demurely. “Her mother’s things were rather large. Adam is away at a sheep auction, and they have only the trap he went in, but they expect him back in an hour or so.”
“Then we must wait,” said Vane. “Worse misfortunes have befallen me.”
They made an excellent meal, and then Vane drew up a wicker chair to the fire for Evelyn and sat down opposite to her. Outside, the rain dripped from the mossy flagstone eaves, and the song of the river stole in monotonous cadence into the room.
Evelyn was silent and Vane said nothing for a while. He had been in the air all day, and though this was nothing new to him, he was content to sit lazily still and leave the opening of conversation to his companion. In the meanwhile it was pleasant to glance towards her now and then. The pale-tinted dress became her, and he felt that the room would have looked less cheerful had she been away.
The effect she had on him was difficult to analyse, though he lazily tried. She appealed to him by the grace of her carriage, the poise of her head, her delicate colouring, and the changing lights in her eyes; but behind these points something stronger and deeper was expressed through them. He fancied she possessed qualities he had not hitherto encountered, which would become more precious when they were fully understood. He thought of her as wholesome in mind; one who sought for the best; but she was also endowed with an ethereal something that could not be defined.
Then a simile struck him: she was like the snow that towers high into the empyrean in British Columbia; in which he was wrong, for there was warm human passion in the girl, though it was sleeping yet. By and by, he told himself, he was getting absurdly sentimental, and he instinctively fumbled for his pipe and stopped. Evelyn noticed this and smiled.
“You needn’t hesitate,” she said. “The Dene is redolent of cigars, and Gerald smokes everywhere when he is at home.”
“Is he likely to turn up?” Vane asked. “It’s ever so long since I’ve seen him.”
“I’m afraid not. In fact, Gerald’s rather under a cloud just now. I may as well tell you this, because you are sure to hear of it sooner or later. He has been extravagant, and, as he assures us, extraordinarily unlucky.”
“Stocks and shares?” suggested Vane, who was acquainted with some of the family tendencies.
Evelyn hesitated a moment. “That would have been more readily forgiven him. I believe he has speculated on the turf as well.”
Vane was surprised, since he understood that Gerald Chisholm was a barrister, and betting on the turf was not an amusement he would have associated with that profession.
“Then,” he said thoughtfully, “I must run up and see him later on.”
Evelyn felt sorry she had spoken. Gerald needed help, which his father was not in a position to offer. She was not censorious of other people’s faults; but it was impossible to be blind to some aspects of her brother’s character, and she would have preferred that Vane should not meet Gerald while the latter was embarrassed by financial difficulties. She changed the subject.
“Several of the things you told me about your life in Canada interested me,” she said. “It must have been bracing to feel that you depended upon your own efforts and stood on your own feet, free from all the hampering customs that are common here.”
“The position has its disadvantages. You have no family influence behind you; nothing to fall back upon. If you can’t make good your footing you must go down. It’s curious that just before I came over here a lady I met in Vancouver expressed an opinion very like yours. She said it must be pleasant to feel that one was, to some extent at least, master of one’s fate.”
“Then she merely explained my meaning more clearly than I have done.”
“One could have imagined that she has everything she could reasonably wish for. If I’m not transgressing, so have you. It’s strange you should both harbour the same idea.”
“I don’t think it’s uncommon among young women nowadays. There’s a grandeur in the thought that one’s fate lies in the hands of the high unseen powers; but to allow one’s life to be moulded by—one’s neighbours’ prejudices and preconceptions is a different matter. Besides, if unrest and human striving were sent, was it only that they should be repressed?”
Vane sat silent a moment or two. He had noticed the brief pause and fancied that she had changed one of the words that followed it. He did not think it was her neighbours’ opinions she most chafed against.
“It’s not a point I’ve been concerned about,” he replied at length. “In a general way, I did what I wanted.”
“Which is a privilege that is denied to us.” Evelyn spoke without bitterness, and added a moment later: “What do women who are left to their own resources do in Western Canada?”
“Some of them marry; I suppose that’s the most natural thing,” said Vane with an air of reflection that amused her. “Anyway, they have plenty of opportunities. There’s a preponderating number of unattached young men in the newly-opened parts of the Dominion.”
“Things are different here, or perhaps we want more than they do across the Atlantic,” said Evelyn. “What becomes of the others?”
“They wait in the hotels; learn stenography and typewriting, and go into offices and stores.”
“And earn just enough to live upon meagrely? If their wages are high, they must pay out more. That follows, doesn’t it?”
“To some extent.”
“Is there nothing better open to them?”
“No,” said Vane thoughtfully; “not unless they’re trained for it and become specialised. That implies peculiar abilities and a systematic education with one end in view: you can’t enter the arena to fight for the higher prizes unless you’re properly armed. The easiest way for a woman to acquire power and influence is by a judicious marriage. No doubt it’s the same here.”
“It is,” replied Evelyn smiling. “A man is more fortunately situated.”
“I suppose he is. If he’s poor, he’s rather walled in, too; but he breaks through now and then. In the newer countries he gets an opportunity.”
Vane abstractedly examined his pipe, which he had not lighted yet. It was clear that the girl was dissatisfied with her surroundings, and had for some reason temporarily relaxed the restraint she generally laid upon herself; but he felt that if she were wise, she would force herself to be content. She was of too fine a fibre to plunge into the struggle that many women had to wage, and though he did not doubt her courage, she had not been trained for it. He had noticed that among men it was the cruder and less developed organisations that proved hardiest in adverse situations; one needed a strain of primitive vigour. There was, it seemed, only one means of release for her, and that was a happy marriage. But a marriage could not be happy unless the suitor was all that she desired, and Evelyn would be fastidious, though her family would, no doubt, only look for wealth and station. He imagined that this was where the trouble lay. He would wait and keep his eyes open. Shortly after he arrived at this decision, there was a rattle of wheels outside and the landlord, who came in, greeted him with rude cordiality. In another minute or two Vane handed Evelyn into the gig, and Bill drove them home through the rain.