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CHAPTER XXX – CONVINCING TESTIMONY

One afternoon three or four days after Carroll had sailed, Evelyn sat alone in Mrs. Nairn’s drawing-room, a prey to confused regrets and keen anxiety. She had recovered from the first shock caused by Carroll’s news, but though she could face the situation more calmly, she could find no comfort anywhere – Vane was lying helpless and famishing, in the frost-bound wilderness. She knew she loved the man; indeed, she had really known it for some time, and it was that which had made Jessie’s revelation so bitter. Now, fastidious in thought and feeling as she was, she wondered if she had been too hard upon him; it was becoming more and more difficult to believe that he could have justified her disgust and anger, but this was not what troubled her most. She had sent him away with cold disfavour; he was threatened by many dangers; it was horrible to think of what might befall him before assistance arrived, and yet she could not drive the haunting dread out of her mind.

She was in this mood when a maid announced that two visitors wished to see her; and when they were shown in, she found it difficult to hide her astonishment as she recognised in Kitty the very attractive girl she had once seen in Vane’s company. It was this which prompted her to assume a chilling manner, though she asked her guests to be seated. Neither of them appeared altogether at her ease, and there was, indeed, a rather ominous sparkle in Kitty’s blue eyes. The latter began the conversation.

“Mr. Carroll was in town not long ago,” she said. “Have you had any news of him since he sailed?”

Evelyn did not know what to make of the question, and she answered coldly: “No; we do not expect any word for some time.”

“I’m sorry,” said Kitty. “We’re anxious about Mr. Vane.”

On the surface, the announcement appeared significant, but the girls’ boldness in coming to her for news was unexplainable to Evelyn. Puzzled as she was, her attitude became more discouraging.

“You know him, then?” she said.

Something in her tone made Celia’s cheeks burn and she drew herself up.

“Yes,” she said; “we know him, both of us; I guess it’s astonishing to you; but I met him first when he was poor, and getting rich hasn’t spoiled Mr. Vane.”

Evelyn was once more puzzled – the girl’s manner savoured less of assurance than of wholesome pride which had been injured. Kitty, however, broke in:

“We had no cards to send in; but I’m Kathleen Blake, and this is Celia Hartley – it was her father sent Mr. Vane off to look for the spruce.”

“Ah!” said Evelyn, a little more gently, addressing Celia; “I understand your father died.”

Kitty flashed a commanding glance at Celia, who spoke: “Yes; that is correct. He left me ill and worn out, without a dollar, and I don’t know what I should have done if Mr. Vane hadn’t insisted on giving Drayton a little money for me, on account, he said, because I was a partner in the venture. Then Miss Horsfield got me some work to do at home among her friends. Mr. Vane must have asked her to: it would be like him.”

Evelyn sat silent for a few moments. Celia had given her a good deal of information in answer to a very simple remark; but she was most impressed by the statement that Jessie, who had prejudiced her against Vane, had helped the girl at his request. It was difficult to believe she would have done so had there been any foundation for her insinuations. If Celia spoke the truth, and Evelyn somehow felt this was the case, the whole thing was extraordinary.

“Now,” said Celia, “it’s no way surprising I’m grateful to Mr. Vane and anxious to hear if Mr. Carroll has reached him.” This was spoken with a hint of defiance, but the girl’s voice changed. “I am anxious. It’s horrible to think of a man like him freezing in the bush.”

Her concern was so genuine and yet somehow so innocent that Evelyn’s heart softened.

“Yes,” she said; “it’s dreadful.” Then she asked a question: “Who’s the Mr. Drayton you mentioned?”

Kitty blushed becomingly; this was her lead. “He’s a kind of partner in the lumber scheme; I’m going to marry him. He’s as firm a friend of Mr. Vane’s as any one. There’s a reason for that – I was in a very tight place once, left without money in a desolate settlement where there was nothing I could do, when Mr. Vane helped me. But, perhaps, that wouldn’t interest you.”

For a moment her doubts still clung to their hold in Evelyn’s mind; and then she suddenly drove the last of them out, with a stinging sense of humiliation. She could not distrust this girl; it was Jessie’s suggestion that was incredible.

“It would interest me very much,” she said.

Kitty told her story effectively, but with caution, laying most stress upon Vane’s compassion for the child and her invalid mother. She was rather impressed by Miss Chisholm, but she supposed the latter was endowed with some of the failings common to human nature.

Evelyn listened to her with confused emotions and a softened face. She was convinced of the truth of the simple tale, and the thought of Vane’s keeping his monied friends and directors waiting in Vancouver in order that a tired child might rest and gather shells upon a sunny beach stirred her deeply. It was so characteristic; exactly what she would have expected him to do.

“Thank you,” she said quietly when Kitty had finished; and then, flinging off the last of her reserve, she asked a number of questions about Drayton and Celia’s affairs. Before her visitors left all three were on friendly terms, but Evelyn was glad when they took their departure.

She wanted to be alone to think, though, in spite of the relief she was conscious of, her thoughts were far from pleasant, and foremost among them figured a crushing sense of shame. She had wickedly misjudged a man who had given her many proofs of the fineness of his character; the evil she had imputed to him was born of her own perverted imagination. She was no better than the narrow-minded, conventional Pharisees she detested, who were swift to condemn out of the uncleanness of their self-righteous hearts. Then, as she began to reason, it flashed upon her that she was, perhaps, wronging herself. Her mind had been cunningly poisoned by an utterly unscrupulous and wholly detestable woman, and she flamed out into a fit of imperious anger against Jessie. She had a hazy idea that this was not altogether reasonable, since she was to some extent fastening the blame she deserved upon another person; but it did not detract from the comfort the indulgence in her indignation brought her.

When she had grown calmer, Mrs. Nairn came in, and Mrs. Nairn was a discerning lady. It was not difficult to lead Evelyn on to speak of her visitors, for the girl’s pride was broken and she felt in urgent need of sympathy; but when she had described the interview she felt impelled to avoid any discussion of its more important issues.

“I was surprised at the girl’s manner,” she concluded. “It must have been embarrassing to them; but they were really so delicate over it, and they had so much courage.”

Mrs. Nairn smiled. “Although one has travelled with third-rate strolling companies and the other has waited in an hotel? Weel, maybe your surprise was natural. Ye cannot all at once get rid of the ideas and prejudices ye were brought up with.”

“I suppose that was it,” said Evelyn thoughtfully.

Her companion’s eyes twinkled. “Then, if ye’re to live among us happily, ye’ll have to try. In the way ye use the words, some of the leading men in this country were no brought up at all.”

“Do you imagine that I’m going to live here?”

Mrs. Nairn gathered up one or two articles she had brought into the room with her and moved towards the door, but before she reached it she looked back at the girl.

“It occurred to me that the thing was no altogether impossible,” she said.

An hour afterwards, Evelyn went down into the town with her, and in one of the streets they came upon Jessie leaving a store. The latter was not lacking in assurance and she moved forward to meet them, but Evelyn gazed at her with a total disregard of her presence and walked quietly on. There was neither anger nor disdain in her attitude; to have shown either would have been a concession she could not make. The instincts of generations of gently-reared Englishwomen were aroused, as well as the revulsion of an untainted nature from something unclean.

Jessie’s cheeks turned crimson and a malevolent light flashed into her eyes as she crossed the street. Mrs. Nairn noticed her expression and smiled at her companion.

“I’m thinking it’s as weel ye met Jessie after she had got the boat for Carroll,” she said.

The remark was no doubt justified, but the fact that Jessie had been able to offer valuable assistance failed to soften Evelyn towards her. It was merely another offence.

In the meanwhile the tug had steamed northwards, towing the sloop which would be required, and, after landing the rescue party at the inlet, steamed away again. Before she had disappeared Carroll began his march, and his companions long remembered it. Two of them were accustomed to packing surveyors’ stores through the seldom-trodden bush, and the others had worked in logging camps and chopped new roads; but though they did not spare themselves, they lacked their leader’s stimulus. Carroll, with all his love of ease, could rise to meet an emergency, and he wore out his companions before the journey was half done. He scarcely let them sleep; he fed them on canned stuff to save delay in lighting fires, and he grew more feverishly impatient with every mile they made. He showed it chiefly by the tight set of his lips and the tension in his face, though now and then, when fallen branches or thickets barred the way, he fell upon the obstacles with the axe in silent fury. For the rest, he took the lead and kept it, and the others, following with shoulders aching from the pack straps, and laboured breath, suppressed their protests.

Like many another made in that country, it was an heroic journey, one in which mind and body were taxed to the limit. Delay might prove fatal; the loads were heavy. Fatigue seized the shrinking flesh, but the unrelenting will, trained in such adventures, mercilessly spurred it on. Toughened muscle is useful and in the trackless North can seldom be dispensed with; but man’s strength does not consist of that alone; there are occasions when the stalwart fall behind and die.

In front of them, as they progressed, lay the unchanging forest, tangled, choked with fallen wreckage, laced here and there with stabbing thorns; appalling and almost impenetrable to the stranger. They must cleave their passage, except where they could take to the creek for an easier way and wade through stingingly cold water or flounder over slippery fangs of rock and ice-encrusted stones. There was sharp frost among the ranges and the brush they broke through was generally burdened with clogging snow. They went on, however, and on the last day Carroll drew away from those who followed him. It was dark when he discovered that he had lost them, but that did not matter, for now and then faint moonlight came filtering down and he was leaving a plain trail behind. His shoulders were bleeding beneath the biting straps; he was on the verge of exhaustion; but he struggled forward, panting heavily, and rending his garments to rags as he smashed through the brakes in the darkness.

The night – it seemed a very long one – was nearly over, when he recognised the roar of a rapid that rang in louder and louder pulsations across the snow-sprinkled bush. He was not far from the end now, and he became conscious of an unnerving fear. The ground was ascending sharply and when he reached the top of the slope the question he shrank from would be answered for him; if there was no blink of light among the serried trunks, he would have come too late.

He reached the summit and his heart jumped; then he clutched at a drooping branch to support himself, shaken by a reaction that sprang from relief. A flicker of uncertain radiance fell upon the trees ahead and down the bitter wind there came the reek of pungent smoke. After that, for the bush was slightly more open, Carroll believed he ran, and presently came crashing and stumbling into the light of the fire. Then he stopped, too stirred and out of breath to speak, for Vane lay where the red glow fell upon his face, smiling up at him.

“Well,” he said, “you’ve come. I’ve been expecting you, but on the whole I got along not so badly.”

Carroll flung off his pack and sat down beside the fire; then he fumbled for his pipe and began to fill it hurriedly with trembling fingers.

“Sorry I couldn’t get through sooner,” he explained. “The stores on board the sloop were spoiled; I had to go on to Vancouver. But there are things to eat in my pack.”

“Hand it across,” said Vane. “I haven’t been faring sumptuously the last few days. No, sit still; I’m supple enough from the waist up.”

He proved it by the way he leaned to and fro as he opened the pack and distributed part of its contents among the cooking utensils, while Carroll, who assisted now and then, did not care to speak. The sight of the man’s gaunt face and the eagerness in his eyes prompted him to an outbreak of feeling which was rather foreign to his nature and which he did not think Vane would appreciate. When the meal was ready, the latter looked up at him.

“I’ve no doubt this journey cost you something, partner,” he said.

Then they ate cheerfully, and Carroll, who watched his friend’s efforts with appreciation, told his story in broken sentences – sometimes with his mouth rather full, for he had not troubled about much cooking since he left the inlet. Afterwards, they lighted their pipes, but by and by Carroll’s fell from his relaxing grasp.

“I can’t get over this sleepiness,” he explained. “I believe I disgraced myself in Vancouver by going off in the most unsuitable places.”

“I dare say it was natural,” said Vane with some dryness. “Anyway, hadn’t you better hitch yourself a little farther from the fire?”

Carroll did so and lay still afterwards, but Vane kept watch during the rest of the night, until in the dawn the packers appeared.

CHAPTER XXXI – VANE IS REINSTATED

Breakfast was over and the two men, wrapped in blankets, lay on opposite sides of the fire. Now that they had a supply of provisions, haste was not a matter of importance, and the rescue party needed a rest. Carroll was aching all over his body and somewhat disturbed in mind, because he had not said anything about their financial affairs to his comrade yet, and the subject must be mentioned.

“What about the Clermont?” Vane asked at length. “You needn’t trouble about breaking the news; come right to the point.”

“Then to all intents and purposes the company has gone under; it’s been taken over by Horsfield’s friends. Nairn has sold our stock – at considerably less than its face value”; and Carroll added a brief account of the absorption of the concern.

“Ah!” said Vane, whose face set hard. “I anticipated something of the kind last night; I saw how you kept clear of the matter.”

“But you said nothing.”

“No,” said Vane. “I’d had time to consider the thing while I lay here, and it didn’t look as if I could have got an intelligible account out of you. But you may as well mention how much Nairn got for the shares.”

He lay smoking silently for a few minutes after Carroll told him, and the latter was strongly moved to sympathy since he thought it was not his financial reverse but one indirect result of it which would hit his comrade hardest.

“Well,” said Vane grimly, “I suppose I’ve done what my friends would consider a mad thing in coming up here, and I must face the reckoning.”

Carroll wondered if their conversation could be confined to the surface of the subject, because there were depths it would be better to leave undisturbed.

“After all, you’re far from broke,” he said as cheerfully as he could. “You have what the Clermont stock brought in, and you may make something out of this shingle-splitting scheme.”

There was bitterness in Vane’s laugh. “When I left Vancouver for England, I was generally supposed to be well on the way to affluence, and there was some foundation for the idea. I had floated the Clermont in the face of opposition; people believed in me; I could have raised what dollars I required for any new undertaking. Now a good deal of my money and my prestige is gone: folks have very little confidence in a man who has shown himself a failure. Besides, I may be a cripple.”

Carroll could guess his companion’s thoughts. There was a vein of stubborn pride in him, and he had, no doubt, decided it was unfitting that Evelyn’s future should be linked to that of a ruined man. This was an exaggerated view, because Vane was in reality far from ruined, and even if he had been so, he had in him the ability to recover from his misfortunes. Still, the man was obstinate and generally ready to make a sacrifice for an idea. Carroll, however, consoled himself with the reflection that Evelyn would probably have something to say upon the subject if she were given an opportunity, and he thought Mrs. Nairn would contrive that she had one.

“I can’t see any benefit in making things out as considerably worse than they are,” he said.

“Nor can I,” Vane agreed. “After all, I was getting pretty tired of the city, and I suppose I can raise enough to put up a small-power mill. It will be a pleasant change to take charge for a year or two in the bush. I’ll make a start at the thing as soon as I’m able to walk.”

This was significant, because it implied that he did not intend to remain in Vancouver, where he would have been able to enjoy Evelyn’s company; but Carroll made no comment, and by and by Vane spoke again.

“Didn’t you mention last night that it was through Miss Horsfield you got the tug?” he asked. “I was thinking about something else at the time.”

“Yes,” said Carroll. “She made Horsfield put some pressure on the people who had previously hired the boat.”

“Ah!” said Vane, “that’s rather strange.”

For a moment he looked puzzled, but almost immediately his face grew impassive, and Carroll knew that he had some idea of Jessie’s treachery. He was, however, sure that any suspicions his comrade entertained would remain locked up in his breast.

“I’m grateful to her, anyway,” the latter resumed. “I believe I could have held out another day or two, but it wouldn’t have been pleasant.”

Carroll began to talk about the preparations for their return, which he soon afterwards set about making, and early next morning they started for the sloop, carrying Vane upon a stretcher they had brought. Though they had to cut a passage for it every here and there, they reached the vessel safely, and after some trouble in getting him below and on to a locker, Carroll decided to sail straight for Vancouver. They were favoured with moderate fair winds, and though the boat was uncomfortably crowded, she made a quick passage and stole in through the Narrows as dusk was closing down one tranquil evening.

As it happened, Evelyn had spent part of the afternoon on the forest-crested rise above the city, up which new dwellings were then creeping, though they have, no doubt, spread beyond it and back into the bush by now. From there she could look down upon the inlet and she had visited the spot frequently during the last few days, watching eagerly for a sail that did not appear. There had been no news of Carroll since the skipper of the tug reported having landed him, and the girl was tormented by doubts and anxieties. She had just come back and was standing in Mrs. Nairn’s sitting-room, when she heard the tinkle of the telephone bell. A moment or two later her hostess entered hastily.

“It’s a message from Alec,” she cried. “He’s heard from the wharf: Vane’s sloop’s crossing the harbour. I’ll away down to see Carroll brings him here.”

Evelyn turned to follow her, but Mrs. Nairn waved her back. “No,” she said firmly, “ye’ll bide where ye are. See they get plenty lights on – at the stair-head and in the passage – and the room on the left of it ready.”

She was gone in another moment and Evelyn, who carried out her instructions, afterwards waited with what patience she could assume. At last there was a rattle of wheels outside, followed by a voice giving orders, and then a tramp of feet. The sounds brought her a strange inward shrinking, but she ran to the door, and saw two tattered men awkwardly carrying a stretcher up the steps, while Carroll and another assisted them. Then the light fell upon its burden, and half prepared as she was, she started in dismay. Vane, whom she had last seen in vigorous health, lay partly covered with an old blanket which had slipped off him to the waist, and his jacket looked a mass of rags. His hat had fallen aside, and his face showed hollow and worn and pinched. Then he saw her and a light sprang into his eyes, but next moment Carroll’s shoulder hid him, and the men plodded on towards the stairs. They ascended them with difficulty, and the girl waited until Carroll came down.

“I noticed you at the door, and I expect you were a little shocked at the change in Vane,” he said. “What he has undergone has pulled him down, but if you had seen him when I first found him, you’d have been worse startled. He’s getting on quite satisfactorily.”

Evelyn was relieved to hear it; but Carroll, who had paused, continued: “As soon as the doctor comes, we’ll make him more presentable; but as I’m not sure about the last bandages I put on, he can’t be moved till then. Afterwards, he’ll no doubt hold an audience.”

There was nothing to do but wait, and Evelyn again summoned her patience. Before long a doctor arrived, and Carroll followed him to Vane’s room alone. The latter’s face was very impassive, though Carroll waited in tense suspense while the doctor stripped off the bandages and bark supports from the injured leg. He examined it attentively, and then looked round at Carroll.

“You fixed that limb when it was broken in the bush?” he said.

“Yes,” said Carroll, with a desperate attempt to treat the matter humourously. “But I really think we both had a hand in the thing. My partner favoured me with his views; I disclaim some of the responsibility.”

“Then I guess you’ve been remarkably fortunate, which is perhaps the best way of expressing it.”

Vane raised his head and fixed his eyes upon the speaker. “It won’t have to be rebroken? I’ll be able to walk without a limp?”

“I should say the latter’s very probable.”

Vane’s eyes glistened and he let his head fall back.

“It’s good news; better than I expected. Now if you could fix me up again, I’d like to get dressed. I’ve felt like a hobo long enough.”

The doctor nodded indulgently. “We can venture to change that state of affairs, but I’ll superintend the operation.”

It was some time before Vane’s toilet was completed, and then Carroll surveyed him with humorous admiration.

“You do us credit, and now I suppose I can announce that you’ll receive?” he said.

Nairn and his wife and Evelyn came in, and the former, who shook hands with Vane very heartily, afterwards looked down at him with twinkling eyes.

“I’d have been glad to see ye, however ye had come,” he said, and Vane fully believed him. “For a’ that, this is no the way I could have wished to welcome ye.”

“When a man won’t take his friends’ advice, what can he expect?” said Vane.

“Let it be a warning. If the making of your mark and dollars is your object, ye must stick to it and think of nothing else. Ye cannot accumulate riches by spreading yourself, and philanthropy’s no lucrative, except maybe to a few.”

“It’s good counsel, but I’m thinking that’s a pity,” his wife remarked. “What would ye say, Evelyn?”

The girl was aware that the tone of light banter had been adopted to cover deeper feelings, which those present shrank from expressing; but she ventured to give her thoughts free rein.

“I agree with you in one respect,” she said. “But I can’t believe that the object mentioned is Mr. Vane’s only one. He would never be willing to pay the necessary price.”

It was a delicate compliment, uttered in all sincerity, and Vane’s worn face grew warm. He was, however, conscious that it would be safer to avoid being serious, and he smiled.

“Well,” he said, “looking for timber rights is apt to prove expensive, too. I had a haunting fear I might be lame, until the doctor banished it. I’d better own that I’d no great confidence in Carroll’s surgery.”

Carroll, keeping strictly to the line the others had chosen, made him an ironical bow, but Evelyn was not to be deterred.

“It was foolish of you to be troubled,” she declared. “It isn’t a fault to be wounded in an honourable fight, and even if the mark remains there is no reason why one should be ashamed of it.”

Mrs. Nairn glanced at the girl rather sharply, but Carroll came to his comrade’s assistance.

“Strictly speaking, there wasn’t a wound,” he pointed out. “Fortunately it was what is known as a simple fracture. If it had been anything else, I’m inclined to think I couldn’t have treated it.”

Nairn chuckled, as if this met with his approval, but his wife turned round and they heard a patter of footsteps on the stairs.

“Yon bell has kept on ringing since we came up,” she said. “I left word I was no to be disturbed. Weel” – as the door opened – “what is it, Minnie?”

“The reception-room’s plumb full,” announced the maid, who was lately from the bush. “If any more folks come along, I won’t know where to put them.”

Now the door was open, Evelyn could hear a murmur of voices on the floor below, and next moment the bell rang violently again, which struck her as a testimonial to the injured man. Vane had not spent a long time in Vancouver, but he had the gift of making friends. Having heard of the sloop’s arrival, they had come to inquire for him, and there was obviously a number of them.

Mrs. Nairn glanced interrogatively at Carroll. “It does not look as if they could be got rid of by a message.”

“I guess he’s fit to see them,” Carroll answered. “We’ll hold the levée. If he’d only let me, I’d like to pose him a bit.”

Mrs. Nairn, with Evelyn’s assistance, did so instead, rearranging the cushions about the man, in spite of his confused and half-indignant protests; and during the next half hour the room was generally full. People walked in, made sympathetic inquiries, or exchanged cheerful banter, until Mrs. Nairn forcibly dismissed the last of them. After this she declared that Vane must go to sleep, and paying no heed to his assertion that he had not the least wish to do so, she led her remaining companions away.

A couple of hours had passed when she handed Evelyn a large tumbler containing a preparation of whipped-up eggs and milk.

“Ye might take him this and ask if he would like anything else,” she said. “I’m weary of the stairs and I would not trust Minnie. She’s handiest at spilling things.”

“It’s the third and I’d better say firmly, the limit,” Carroll remarked. Then he assumed an aggrieved expression as Evelyn moved off with a tray. “I can’t see why I couldn’t have gone. I believe I’ve discharged my duties as nurse satisfactorily.”

Evelyn shared his suspicions. Her hostess’s artifice was a transparent one, but she nevertheless fell in with it. She had only seen Vane in the company of others; this might be the same again to-morrow, and there was something to be said. By intuition as much as reason, she knew that there was something working in his mind, something that troubled him and might trouble her. It excited her apprehension and animated her with a desire to combat it. That she might be compelled to follow an unconventional course did not matter. This man was hers – and she could not let him go.

She entered his room collectedly. He was lying, neatly dressed, upon a couch, with his shoulders raised against the end of it, for he had thrown the cushions which had supported him upon the floor. As she came in, he leaned down in an attempt to recover them, and finding himself too late, looked up guiltily. The fact that he could move with so much freedom was a comfort to the girl. She set down the tray on a table near him.

“Mrs. Nairn has sent you this,” she said, and the laugh they both indulged in drew them together.

Then her mood changed, and her heart yearned over him. He had gone away a strong, self-confident, prosperous man, and he had come back defeated; broken in health and fortune and terribly worn. Her pity shone in her softening eyes.

“Do you wish to sleep?” she asked.

“No,” Vane assured her; “I’d a good deal sooner talk to you.”

“Well,” said Evelyn, “I have something to say. I’m afraid I was rather unpleasant to you the evening before you sailed. I was sorry for it afterwards; it was flagrant injustice.”

“Then I wonder why you didn’t answer the letter I wrote at Nanaimo.”

“For a very good reason; I never got it.”

Vane considered this for a few moments. “After all,” he said, “it doesn’t matter now. I’m acquitted?”

“Absolutely.”

“Do you know,” he said, “I’ve still no idea of my offence?”

Evelyn was exceedingly glad to hear it, but a warmth crept into her face, and as the blood showed through the delicate skin he fixed his eyes intently upon her.

“It was all a mistake; I’m sorry still,” she declared penitently.

“Oh,” he said in a different tone; “I wouldn’t trouble about it. The satisfaction of being acquitted outweighs everything else. Besides, I’ve made a number of rather serious mistakes myself. The search for that spruce, for instance, is supposed to be one.”

“No,” said Evelyn decidedly; “whoever thinks that is wrong. It is a very fine thing you have done. It doesn’t matter in the least that you were unsuccessful.”

“You believe that?”

“Of course. How could I believe anything else?”

The man’s face changed again, and once more she read the signs. Whatever doubts and half-formed resolutions – and she had some idea of them – had been working in his mind were dissipating.

“Well,” he said, “I’ve sacrificed the best of my possessions and destroyed the confidence of folks who, to serve their ends, would have helped me on. Isn’t that a serious thing?”