"To marry some gambling rake?"

"No," said Jake sharply. "It doesn't follow that a man is trash because he stakes a dollar or two now and then, and there are some pretty straight fellows in Santa Brigida." Then he paused and grinned. "Take yourself, for example; you've talent enough to carry you some way, and I'm open to allow you're about as sober as a man could be."

"As it happens, I'm not eligible," d.i.c.k rejoined with a touch of grimness. "Kenwardine wouldn't think me worth powder and shot, and I've a disadvantage you don't know of yet."

"Anyhow, it strikes me you're taking a rather strange line. Kenwardine let us bring you here when you were badly hurt, and Miss Kenwardine has given herself a good deal of trouble about you. In fact, I guess you owe it to her that you're recovering."

"That's true, I think," said d.i.c.k. "I can't remember much about my illness, but I've a notion that she took very good care of me. Still, there's no reason I should give her further trouble when I'm getting better, and I want you to make arrangements for carrying me back to the dam. Perhaps a hammock would be the best plan."

"You're not fit to be moved yet."

"I'm going, anyhow," d.i.c.k replied with quiet resolution.

After trying in vain to persuade him, Jake went away, and soon afterwards Kenwardine came in. The light was strong and d.i.c.k noted the touches of gray in his short, dark hair, but except for this he looked young and athletic. His figure was graceful, his dress picturesque, for he wore white duck with a colored silk shirt and red sash, and he had an easy, good-humored manner. Sitting down close by, he gave d.i.c.k a friendly smile.

"I'm glad to find you looking better, but am surprised to hear you think of leaving us," he said.

"My work must be falling behind and Stuyvesant has n.o.body to put in my place."

"He sent word that they were getting on all right," Kenwardine remarked.

"I'm afraid he was overstating it with a good motive. Then, you see, I have given you and Miss Kenwardine a good deal of trouble and can't take advantage of your kindness any longer. It would be an unfair advantage, because I'm getting well. Of course I'm very grateful, particularly as I have no claim on you."

"That is a point you can hardly urge. You are a countryman, and your cousin is a friend of mine. I think on that ground we are justified in regarding you as an acquaintance."

d.i.c.k was silent for a few moments. He felt that had things been different he would have liked Kenwardine. The man had charm and had placed him under a heavy obligation. d.i.c.k admitted this frankly, but could not stay any longer in his house. He had, however, a better reason for going than his dislike to accepting Kenwardine's hospitality. Clare had robbed him and he must get away before he thought of her too much. It was an awkward situation and he feared he had not tact enough to deal with it.

"The truth is, I've no wish to renew my acquaintance with people I met in England, and I went to America in order to avoid doing so," he said. "You know what happened before I left."

"Yes; but I think you are exaggerating its importance. After all, you're not the only man who has, through nothing worse than carelessness, had a black mark put against his name. You may have a chance yet of showing that the thing was a mistake."

"Then I must wait until the chance comes," d.i.c.k answered firmly.

"Very well," said Kenwardine. "Since this means you're determined to go, we must try to make it as easy as possible for you. I'll see the doctor and Mr. Fuller."

He went out, and by and by Clare came in and noted a difference in d.i.c.k.

He had generally greeted her as eagerly as his weakness allowed, and showed his dependence on her, but now his face was hard and resolute. The change was puzzling and disturbing.

"My father tells me you want to go away," she remarked.

"I don't want to, but I must," d.i.c.k answered with a candor he had not meant to show. "You see, things I ought to be looking after will all go wrong at the dam."

"Isn't that rather egotistical?" Clare asked with a forced smile. "I have seen Mr. Bethune, who doesn't look overworked and probably doesn't mind the extra duty. In fact, he said so."

"People sometimes say such things, but when they have to do a good deal more than usual they mind very much. Anyhow, it isn't fair to ask them, and that's one reason for my going away."

Clare colored and her eyes began to sparkle. "Do you think we mind?"

"I don't," d.i.c.k answered awkwardly, feeling that he was not getting on very well. "I know how kind you are and that you wouldn't shirk any trouble. But still----"

"Suppose we don't think it a trouble?"

d.i.c.k knitted his brows. It was hard to believe that the girl who sat watching him with a puzzled look was an adventuress. He had made her blush, and had come near to making her angry, while an adventuress would not have shown her feelings so easily. The light that shone through the window touched her face, and he noted its delicate modeling, the purity of her skin, and the softness of her eyes. The sparkle had gone, and they were pitiful. Clare had forgiven his ingrat.i.tude because he was ill.

"Well," he said, "what you think doesn't alter the fact that I have given you trouble and kept you awake looking after me at night. I wasn't always quite sensible, but I remember how often you sat here and brought me cool things to drink. Indeed, I expect you helped to save my life." He paused and resumed in a voice that thrilled with feeling: "This wasn't all you did. When I was having a very bad time before I left England and everybody believed the worst, you sent me a letter saying that you knew I was innocent."

"You told me you tore up the letter," Clare remarked quietly.

d.i.c.k's face got red. He had not taken the line he meant to take and was obviously making a mess of things.

"Are you sure I wasn't delirious?"

"I don't think so. Did you tear up the letter?"

He gave her a steady look, for he saw that he must nerve himself to face the situation. It was unfortunate that he was too ill to deal with it properly, but he must do the best he could.

"I'll answer that if you'll tell me how you knew I was innocent."

Clare looked puzzled, as if his manner had jarred; and d.i.c.k saw that she was not acting. Her surprise was real. He could not understand this, but felt ashamed of himself.

"In a sense, of course, I didn't know," she answered with a touch of embarra.s.sment. "Still, I felt you didn't steal the plans. It seemed impossible."

"Thank you," said d.i.c.k, who was silent for the next few moments. He thought candor was needed and had meant to be frank, but he could not wound the girl who had taken care of him.

"Anyhow, I lost the papers and that was almost as bad," he resumed feebly. "When you get into trouble people don't care much whether you're a rogue or a fool. You're in disgrace and that's all that matters.

However, I mustn't bore you with my grumbling. I'm getting better and they want me at the dam."

"Then I suppose you must go as soon as you are able," Clare agreed, and began to talk about something else.

She left him soon and d.i.c.k lay still, frowning. It had been a trying interview and he doubted if he had come through it well, but hoped Clare would make allowances for his being ill. He did not want her to think him ungrateful, and had certainly no wish to punish her for what had happened in the past. But she had stolen his papers and he must get away.

He was taken away next morning, with the consent of the doctor, who agreed that the air would be more invigorating on the hill. Clare did not come down to see him off and d.i.c.k felt strangely disappointed, although she had wished him a quick recovery on the previous evening. Kenwardine, however, helped him into his hammock and after the carriers started went back to the room where Clare sat. He noted that although the sun was hot the shutter was not drawn across the window, which commanded the street.

"Well," he said, "Mr. Brandon has gone and on the whole that's a relief."

"Do you know why he went so soon?" Clare asked.

Kenwardine sat down and looked at her thoughtfully. He was fond of Clare, though he found her something of an embarra.s.sment now and then. He was not rich and ran certain risks that made his ability to provide for her doubtful, while she had no marked talents to fall back upon if things went against him. There was, however, the possibility that her beauty might enable her to make a good marriage, and although Kenwardine could not do much at present to forward this plan he must try to prevent any undesirable entanglement. Brandon, for example, was not to be thought of, but he suspected Clare of some liking for the young man.

"Yes," he said, "I know and sympathize with him. In fact, I quite see why he found it difficult to stay. The situation was only tolerable while he was very ill."

"Why?"

Kenwardine meant to tell her. It was better that she should smart a little now than suffer worse afterwards.

"As soon as he began to get better Brandon remembered that we were the cause of his misfortunes. You can see how this complicated things."

"But we had nothing to do with them," Clare said sharply. "What made him think we had?"