"It wasn't the message. I was bracing up before it came; you and your father made me feel that I needn't despair. In fact, I was getting ashamed of being downcast, after the confidence you seemed to have in me."

Geraldine smiled at him.

"Ah!" she said. "It must need a good deal of courage to lead a forlorn hope, and one could imagine that your undertaking looked like that. It must be much pleasanter to feel that you have some chance of winning.

But what will you do next?"

"Go home, I think. I want to see how I stand there."

"For long?" Geraldine asked quietly.

"No; for a month or so. I shall be eager to get back." Andrew paused and asked with a hint of tension in his voice: "Will I be missed?"

"Of course!" Geraldine looked up with friendly candor. "But will you be able to make the double journey and do all that's needful in a few weeks?"

Andrew felt gently rebuffed. Geraldine had a way of checking him when he tried to draw closer to her, and her unembarra.s.sed frankness was deterring.

"I'll try," he said doggedly.

Frobisher came in then, and they chatted about various matters until Andrew took his leave. When he reached his hotel he wrote a letter home, announcing his return, and the next morning he had a long talk with Carnally, whom he empowered to act as his deputy while he was in England. Then he went to Graham's and found the Winnipeg surgeon leaving. His report was favorable: Graham's foot could be saved, though it would be some time before he recovered the use of it.

Andrew was shown into a room where his comrade lay on a couch.

"I've heard the news and I'm very glad," he said. "I was troubled about you."

"You couldn't hide it." Graham smiled at him. "It wasn't your fault I got frost-bitten, anyway. But have you heard about the specimens?"

"Yes; the first report's encouraging. Of course, I haven't learned the full results yet."

Graham's eyes glistened, and he moved into a comfortable pose with a look of deep content.

"That's good. Now I must try to get about again as soon as possible."

"There's no hurry. As you know, you needn't go back to the mill until you're able. Then as Carnally and I know where the lode is, it isn't strictly necessary that you should come with us."

"Isn't it! I've been thinking about that lode for twenty years, and do you suppose I could let another man locate it? Besides, we must stake three claims on the best frontage."

"That would be better; but what about Mrs. Graham? Haven't you given her enough anxiety?"

Graham looked disturbed.

"I can't predict what line she'll take, but I venture to believe she'll let me go, knowing I'll be satisfied for good when I have finished my work."

Andrew told him about his trip home and the arrangements he had made with Carnally, and left soon afterward. During the next week he came in daily and spent two evenings with the Frobishers, and then he left the Landing early one morning by the Montreal express.

The Atlantic pa.s.sage was short and uneventful, and late one afternoon he alighted from a local train at a wayside station among the English hills. Wannop and Hilda were waiting on the platform, and after the first greetings were over, the girl regarded her brother critically.

"Andrew," she exclaimed, "you haven't come back the same! How did you get those lines on your forehead?"

"Are there some?" Andrew asked with a smile. "I suppose I was anxious now and then. Not knowing whether you'll get enough to eat makes one think."

Hilda shook her head.

"No; that's not it. My dear boy, you have been _developing_ since you went to Canada."

"If you're right," laughed Andrew, "it was getting time I did; but you're standing in the way of the baggage truck."

They moved on, and when they drove off in Wannop's trap Andrew sat silent for a while, looking about delightedly. It was open weather; by comparison with the Canadian cold, the air was soft and mild. A gray sky hung above the hills, but there was a glimmer of pale red and saffron low in the west, and the rugged slopes, clothed with withered fern, shone a rich, warm brown. Then they dipped into a valley which struck Andrew, accustomed to the monotonous snow-glare, as wonderfully green. The shining riband of a river wound through its midst; clover growing among the stubble and broad strips of raw-red soil where sheep, netted in, stood about the turnip-cutters, checkered the pasture land. They pa.s.sed climbing woods where the leafless branches formed blurs of blue and gray; and here and there a white thread of foaming water streaked the heights above.

It was a countryside that Andrew loved, but now, while softly beautiful, it looked strangely small--a narrow green strip, shut in by lofty moors. Then there were many tall hedgerows and big stone walls; one could not wander there at will. The wide horizons and the limitless stretch of trackless woods were missing. It was curious, Andrew thought, with what content he had once searched stubble and turnips for partridges, and stood with gun ready outside the woods from which the pheasants broke on clattering wings. Now all that seemed tame; he had lost his zest for it in a sterner chase.

Hilda broke in upon his reflections.

"You haven't spared me much attention yet," she said. "How do you think I'm looking?"

"Now that I think of it, you're growing rather pretty; though that is what I expected."

"I'm aware of it." Hilda made him the best curtsey that s.p.a.ce allowed.

"But don't you notice that I'm looking more mature and intellectual?"

"Steady!" Wannop cautioned. "You nearly knocked the whip out of my hand. Keep that kind of thing for the ballroom--it's wasted on your brother."

"The maturity didn't strike me; but you used to show signs of intelligence now and then," Andrew answered.

"Perhaps it's better to be pretty. Cleverness is open to any one who is willing to study. But did you see any girl as nice-looking as I am while you were in Canada?"

"Even at the risk of giving offense, I can think of one--though of course beauty is largely a matter of taste."

"Ah!" exclaimed Hilda delightedly. "I had my suspicions! I suppose you mean the girl who wrote to Ethel about you?"

Andrew started and Wannop laughed.

"I knew she was up to something. That is what she has been leading you on to."

"How did you hear about her?" Andrew asked. "Did Ethel tell you?"

"As a matter of fact, she wasn't very communicative, but I elicited a few sc.r.a.ps of information. It's surprising how one can follow up a clue."

"I suppose so," said Andrew. "Whether it leads you right or not is another matter. I'm thankful I haven't your fervid imagination."

"How he puts it off!" Hilda said to Wannop. "He's been learning diplomacy in Canada."

Wannop chuckled.

"I always knew he wasn't a fool. But I wish you would keep still. The horse is fresh and this is a steep bit of road."

Hilda changed the subject, for she had learned enough from her brother's start to give her food for thought.

"Leonard will be down to-morrow with Florence," Wannop said when they approached the house. "I suppose you'll have something to tell us. I needn't remind you that if there's any difficulty you can count on me."