Alton smiled dryly. "I left Okanagan and Seaforth with enough of the boys to hold the claim sitting tight," he said. "Talked to the chiefs in Victoria, and showed them Damer's testimony. They told me that nobody had a patent, and that everything that had been done was informal, and because they would probably have to submit the case to Ottawa it would take time for them to come to a decision. And now for Somasco. The new mill's finished, but it has got to live on the local demand, and just now there isn't any. We're half through with the desiccatory, but as it seems the Government will not make us roads, the California people with their cheap transport will beat us easily. I've got thirty men chopping out a new trail one could haul a loaded wagon on, and don't quite know how to pay them. We've raised a piece of the cannery, but for want of dollars don't go on, and, to put it straight, unless that railroad comes in, Somasco will be busted when the loans come due."

"Well," said Forel, "I've some news for you. One of my clients who seems to think a good deal of the future of Somasco offers dollars enough to help you considerably--in fact, half as much again as you were asking for lately."

Alton's face brightened, and then grew clouded again. "The other folks have security, and as I don't know that we have anything we could offer this one, I'm not sure it would be square," he said.

"The dollars," said Forel, "are now in my hands, and I fancy that if you will go through the books with me tomorrow we can find something that would figure as security. In fact, the lender left me a tolerably wide discretion and would almost as soon I sank the dollars to take a share of the profits as put them out on loan."

Alton appeared astonished. "Considering our present credit, that is somewhat curious."

"There it is, anyway," said Forel, smiling. "There are, it seems, still people who believe in Somasco and you, but we'll see what we can fix up to-morrow."

Alton stood up and straightened himself to his full height, while his voice trembled a little as he said, "Then I think whoever it is is going to save us yet."

Forel made no answer, but he fancied that his client would have been contented had she seen how Alton seemed to shake off the grim hopelessness that had been too apparent through all his resolution.

It was with a lighter heart that Alton went away, and having little leisure or inclination for company, he did not go back to his friend's house until the evening of Mrs. Forel's return. The sun had dipped behind the pines when he reached it, and Forel and his wife sat with Alice Deringham upon the verandah, for which the girl was grateful, because the presence of others rendered their conventional greetings easier, and she at once shrank from and desired an interview with Alton alone. By and by it, however, happened that Forel, who may have received a warning from his wife, remembered that he had some business to attend to, while Mrs. Forel went away, as she explained, to instruct the Chinese cook, and Alice Deringham was left face to face with a task that now appeared almost impossible. She could not commence it directly.

"And now I want you to tell me all about Somasco," she said.

Alton leaned with his back against a pillar looking down on her, and the girl, who lay in a long chair, wished that she had chosen a position where the light did not fall so directly upon her. That was in one respect curious, because she had taken considerable pains with her toilet, and knew that the sweeping lines of the long black dress became her. Its sombreness also emphasized the ivory whiteness of her neck and hands, while the pallor and weariness of her face awoke a tenderness that was far more than pity in the man. He caught the glint of the lustrous red-gold hair as she moved her head a trifle, and then turned his eyes away with a little restless movement that did not escape his companion.

"We may hold the mine after all," he said.

"Yes?" said Alice Deringham, with an evident eagerness which puzzled him. "That is very good news. And your other difficulties? You see, I made Mr. Forel talk about them occasionally."

The interest that this implied was not lost upon the man, but he glanced away again.

"They are less than they were," he said gravely. "Still, I don't know that you would care to hear about these things."

"That is not very friendly," said Alice Deringham, with a little smile.

Alton glanced down at her in swift surprise, and then his face became a mask again. "Well," he said slowly, "when I think we would have been beaten without it, somebody lent us enough dollars to carry us through.

It sounds very simple, but it has made a new man of me. To have dragged down all the men who trusted me would have hurt me horribly."

"And this loan or whatever it is will prevent that happening? It was opportune?"

"Yes," and a little glow came into Alton's eyes. "It was very opportune."

"You were not so laconic at the ranch," said the girl, who smiled at him. "Once upon a time you would tell me all about your plans."

The man seemed to quiver as he met her gaze, and then slowly straightened himself. "I have been taught a good deal since then and know what an egotistical fool I was," he said. "Still, this loan makes too great a difference to me to be expressed in words. You can scarcely understand--I think no woman could--what it is to feel utterly beaten."

"Still," said Alice Deringham, with a little flash in her eyes, "I don't think you ever quite felt that, and now you will have everything you hoped for again?"

Alton's fingers closed suddenly as he looked down on the gleaming hair and whiteness of the neck beneath it, for the girl's face had been turned from him. "No," he said slowly. "I wanted so much, you see."

"And yet you once seemed to think there was nothing impossible to the man who was resolute enough--and I fancied you were right," said the girl. "Still, the things one used to admire occasionally lose their value."

She glanced at him a moment, and was afraid to look again. The man's face was very grim, but she had seen what was in his eyes, and waited almost breathless, until he stooped and laid his hand upon her shoulder.

"Will you look up and tell me that again?" he said.

Alice Deringham was never quite sure whether she looked up or not, but she felt her cheeks glowing and the man's hand tighten on her shoulder.

"I--I can't," she said.

Perhaps her voice betrayed her, for Alton had evidently flung restraint to the winds. "Then," he said, with the quietness which she knew was most often a mask for his vehemence, "I have something to tell you."

It cost Alice Deringham an effort she remembered all her life, but she shook off his grasp, and stopped him with a little imperious gesture.

"No," she said, "you must listen. Go back to the rail."

Alton stood a moment irresolute, the veins on his forehead swollen and passion in his eyes. Then he stretched out his hand with a little laugh, and Miss Deringham knew that unless she used all her strength that tale would never be told. She rose up, and stood looking at him, very statuesque and cold now in the long trailing dress. Alton let his hand drop and bent his head.

"I am only a bushman, and I am sorry," he said. "Now you will sit down again."

It was evident that he had put a stern restraint upon himself, but the girl knew that he would listen.

"I have a confession to make," she said quietly. "You will remember the sale of Townshead's ranch, but you do not know I kept back the message Miss Townshead sent you."

Alton laughed a little. "Nothing would convince me of it. The man who should have brought it was not sober. He told me himself."

Alice Deringham had not anticipated this, and the man's unwavering faith in her was worse to bear than his anger would have been. "Still, the message was plain, and I remembered it," she said.

Alton made a little gesture of impatience. "No," he said resolutely, "you did not, and if you had done you would have had a reason that would have made it right."

The girl sat silent a few moments, her thoughts in confusion, almost angry with the man for his loyalty. "But there is more. You were going back into the ranges to relocate the mine--and I knew that it would cost you a great deal when I sent the note that stopped you."

The bronze faded suddenly in the man's face, and there was a dew upon his forehead, while the girl felt very faint and cold as she realized how he would feel the blow. Yet she could not spare either herself or him, and she struck while she had the courage left.

"I knew you would risk everything if I asked you to, and that was why I sent the note. I wanted to hurt you."

Alton's hand tightened upon the balustrade, and then turning slowly he paced along the verandah, while Alice Deringham choked back a sob as she noticed that now his steps were uneven. She had accomplished the task that was laid upon her, and it only remained for her to keep silence and hide her suffering. In another moment he would descend the verandah stairway and she would never see him again. Alton, however, went past the stairway as though he did not see it, moving clumsily, with a limp that pained the girl more than his face had done. Then he turned and she felt her heart beat faster, for there was a change in him when he came back again. He stopped and stood still close by her.

"You must try to forgive me--but it hurt," he said.

Alice Deringham turned her face away from him, and for a moment wonder almost drove all other emotion out of her.

"I--I don't understand. It was I who did that horrible thing."

"Then," said Alton very gravely, "you were driven to it. My dear, you could of your own will do no wrong."

Again his great faith in her brought the blood to the white face of the girl, and her humiliation almost overwhelmed her. Still, she was determined that he should know all, and she struck again.

"No," she said, with a cold incisiveness, though her voice was faint and strained. "I did it because I hated you--and longed for any means of punishing you."

Alton seemed to shiver, but his eyes were fixed on her steadily, and next moment he had laid his hand upon her shoulder and forced her to look up at him.

"Then we will forget it together," he said. "There was a mistake somewhere--for I do not think you could have hated me."

Alice Deringham made a last struggle; it was a very bitter one, for she realized the all-sufficiency of the love that would believe no evil.