She let him go, and crossing the room to a window, she watched him stride down the drive with a swift, determined gait. He might be tried severely, but there was little fear of this man's resolution deserting him. She was, however, troubled by a recurrence of the unpleasant sense of guilt when he disappeared; it was difficult to persuade herself that she had been quite honest, and the difficulty was new to her.

In the meanwhile Lisle walked on rapidly, disregarding the ache that the motion started in his injured arm and shoulder. In his dejected mood, the twinge at every step was something of a welcome distraction. Since a sacrifice must be made, it should, he resolved, be made by him; Millicent should not suffer, though he admitted that he had no reason for supposing that she would have been willing to do so. She had never shown him more than confidence and friendliness, and it was only during the past few weeks that he had ventured to think of the possibility of winning her.

Even then, the thought had roused no excess of ardent pa.s.sion; much as he desired her, a strong respect and steadfast affection were more in keeping with his temperament. Nevertheless, had he known that she loved him and he could confer benefits upon her in place of demanding a sacrifice, he would have been strangely hard to deter.

On his return, Nasmyth met him at the door.

"Where have you been?" he asked with some indignation.

"To Mrs. Gladwyne's," Lisle informed him.

"You walked to the house, after what Irvine said when you insisted on his taking the bandages off?"

"I took them off; he only protested. Anyway, I didn't break my leg."

Nasmyth noticed his gloomy expression.

"Well," he responded, "I suppose there was very little use in warning you to keep quiet; but you look as if you had suffered for your rashness."

"That's true," answered the Canadian with a grim smile. "After all, it's what usually happens, isn't it?"

They went in, Nasmyth a little puzzled by his companion's manner; but Lisle offered no explanation of its cause.

CHAPTER XXI

THE LAST AFTERNOON

It was a bright day when Lisle took his leave of the Marples. They gave him a friendly farewell and when he turned away Bella Crestwick walked with him down the drive.

"I don't care what they think; I couldn't talk to you while they were all trying to say something nice," she explained. "Still, to do them justice, I believe they meant it. We are sorry to part with you."

"It's soothing to feel that," Lisle replied. "In many ways, I'm sorry to go. I've no doubt you'll miss your brother after to-morrow."

"Yes," she said with unusual seriousness. "More than once during the last two years I felt that it would be a relief to let somebody else have the responsibility of looking after him, but now that the time has come I'm sorry he's going. I can't help remembering how often I lost my temper, and the mistakes I made."

"You stuck to your task," commended Lisle. "I dare say it was a hard one, almost beyond you now and then."

He knew that he was not exaggerating. She was only a year older than the wilful lad, who must at times have driven her to despair. Yet she had never faltered in her efforts to restrain and control him; and had made a greater sacrifice for his sake than Lisle suspected, though in the light of a subsequent revelation of Gladwyne's character she was thankful for this.

"Well," she replied, "I suppose that one misses a load one has grown used to, and I feel very downcast. It's hardly fair to pa.s.s Jim on to you--but I can trust you to take care of him."

"You can trust the work and the country," Lisle corrected her with a trace of grimness. "He's not going out to be idle, as he'll discover.

There's nothing like short commons and steady toil for taming any one.

You'll see the effect of my prescription when I send him back again."

"He has physical pluck. I'm glad to remember it; and he has shown signs of steadying since he found Gladwyne out."

Lisle looked at her searchingly.

"Since he found Gladwyne out?"

"Oh," she answered, seeing that she had been incautious, "he rather idolized the man, and I suppose it was painful to discover by accident that he wasn't quite all he thought him. Now, however, he has transferred his homage to you--I'm afraid Jim must always have somebody to prop him--but I've no misgivings."

Lisle laughed.

"I've seldom had the time to get into mischief; I suppose that accounts for a good deal."

They were nearing the lodge and she stopped and held out her hand.

"It's hard to say good-by; you have helped me more than you'll ever guess, and you won't be forgotten." Then as he held her hand with signs of embarra.s.sment she laughed with something of her usual mocking manner and suddenly drew away. "Good-by," she added. "I was rather daring once and I suppose you were shocked. I can't repeat the rashness--it would mean more now."

She walked back toward the house, and he went on. Half an hour later he met Millicent, who stopped to greet him.

"I was on my way to call on you for the last time," he told her.

There was something in his voice that troubled her, and, though she had expected it, she shrank from the intimation of his departure.

"Then, will you come back with me?" she asked.

"If you're not pressed for time, I'd rather walk across the moor, the way you once took me soon after I came. I'd like to look round the countryside again before I leave, though it will be a melancholy pleasure."

For no very obvious reason, she hesitated. It was, however, hard to refuse his last request and she really wished to go.

"The views are unusually good," she said, as they started on. "Wouldn't Nasmyth have gone with you?"

"It wouldn't have been the same," he explained. "I'm storing up memories to take away with me and somehow Nasmyth is most clearly a.s.sociated with Canada. When I think of him, it will be as sitting in camp beside a portage or holding the canoe paddle."

"And you can't picture my being occupied in that way?"

"No," he answered gravely; "I a.s.sociate you with England--with stately old houses, with well-cared-for woods and quiet valleys. There's no doubt that your place is here."

He spoke as if he were making an admission that was forced from him, and she endeavored to answer in a lighter manner.

"It's the only one I've had an opportunity for trying."

"But you love this place!"

"Yes," she said; "I love it very well. Perhaps I am prejudiced, and I've only had a glimpse at other countries, but I feel that this is the most beautiful land in the world."

He stopped and glanced round. From where they stood he could look out upon leagues of lonely brown moors running back into the distance under a cloudless sky. Beyond them the Scottish hills were softly penciled in delicate gray. There was a sense of s.p.a.ce and vastness in the picture, but it was not that which spoke most plainly to him. Down on the far-spread low ground lay such white homesteads, built to stand for generations, as he had never seen in Canada; parks sprinkled with n.o.ble trees, amid which the gray walls of some ancient home peeped out; plantations made with loving care, field on field, fenced in with well-trimmed trimmed hedges.

It was all eloquent of order, security and long-established ease; a strong contrast to the rugged wilderness where, in the bush and on treeless prairie, men never relaxed their battle with nature. In many ways, his was a stern country; a land of unremitting toil from which one desisted only long enough to eat and sleep, and he was one of the workers. Mrs. Gladwyne had been right--it was no place for this delicately nurtured girl with her sensitiveness and artistic faculties.

"For those who can live as you live, it would be hard to find the equal of this part of England," he said. "But I'm not sure you can keep it very much longer as it is."

"Why?" she asked.