Part 22 (1/2)

”I am glad you like him,” he said; his tone implying the precise opposite of the words.

”Are you? You don't say it very enthusiastically.”

It was a small challenge, and he lifted it almost roughly.

”I can't be enthusiastic where your liking for other men is concerned.”

Her smile was a mere face-lighting of mockery.

”I can't imagine Mr. Bromley saying a thing like that. What was it you told me once about the high plane of men-friends.h.i.+ps? As I remember it, you said that they were the purest pa.s.sions the world has ever known.

And you wouldn't admit that women could breathe the rarefied air of that high alt.i.tude at all.”

”That was before I knew all the possibilities; before I knew what it means to----”

”Don't say it,” she interrupted, the mocking mood slipping from her like a cast-off garment.

”I shall say it,” he went on doggedly. ”Loudon is nearer to me than any other man I ever knew. But I honestly believe I should hate him if--tell me that it isn't so, Elsa. For heaven's sake, help me to kill out this new madness before it makes a scoundrel of me!”

What she would have said he was not to know. Beyond the zone of light bounded by the shadows of the maples on the lawn there were sounds as of some animal cras.h.i.+ng its way through the shrubbery. A moment later, out of the enclosing walls of the night, came a man, running and gasping for breath. It was one of the labourers from the camp at Elbow Canyon, and he made for the corner of the portico where Miss Craigmiles's hammock was swung.

”'Tis Misther Ballard I'm lukin' for!” he panted; and Ballard answered quickly for himself.

”I'm here,” he said. ”What's wanted?”

”It's Misther Bromley, this time, sorr. The wather was risin' in the river, and he'd been up to the wing dam just below this to see was there anny logs or annything cloggin' it. On the way up or back, we don't know which, he did be stoomblin' from the trail into the canyon; and the dago, Lu'gi, found him.” The man was mopping his face with a red bandana, and his hands were shaking as if he had an ague fit.

”Is he badly hurt?” Ballard had put himself quickly between the hammock and the bearer of ill tidings.

”'Tis kilt dead entirely he is, sorr, we're thinkin',” was the low-spoken reply. The a.s.sistant engineer had no enemies among the workmen at the headquarters' camp.

Ballard heard a horrified gasp behind him, and the hammock suddenly swung empty. When he turned, Elsa was hurrying out through the open French window with his coat and hat.

”You must not lose a moment,” she urged. ”Don't wait for anything--I'll explain to father and Aunt June. Hurry! hurry! but, oh, do be careful--_careful_!”

Ballard dropped from the edge of the portico and plunged into the shrubbery at the heels of the messenger. The young woman, still pale and strangely perturbed, hastened to find her aunt.

”What is it, child? What has happened?”

Miss Cauffrey, the gentle-voiced, had been dozing in her chair, but she wakened quickly when Elsa spoke to her.

”It is another--accident; at the construction camp. Mr. Ballard had to go immediately. Where is father?”

Miss Cauffrey put up her eye-gla.s.ses and scanned the various groups within eye-reach. Then she remembered. ”Oh, yes; I think I must be very sleepy, yet. He went in quite a little time ago; to the library to lie down. He asked me to call him when Mr. Ballard was ready to go.”

”Are you sure of that, Aunt June?”

”Why--yes. No, that wasn't it, either; he asked me to excuse him to Mr.

Ballard. I recollect now. Dear me, child! What has upset you so? You look positively haggard.”

But Elsa had fled; first to the library, which was empty, and then to her father's room above stairs. That was empty, too, but the coat and waistcoat her father had worn earlier in the evening were lying upon the bed as if thrown aside hurriedly. While she was staring panic-stricken at the mute evidences of his absence she heard his step in the corridor.