"No," said Harry, "I can't spare it, but it's safer with you than with me, and besides, it's yours. And I owe you more than money." He drew a deep breath to steady himself, and then went on: "And I want to say, Ranald, that I have bet my last stake."

Ranald pushed back his chair and rose to his feet.

"Now that's the best thing I've heard for some time," he said, offering Harry his hand; "and that's the last of that business."

He sat down, drew in his chair, and turning over his papers with a nervousness that he rarely showed, he continued: "And, Harry, I want you to do something for me. Before you go home this afternoon, will you come in here? I may want to send a note to Maimie by you."

"But--" began Harry.

"Wait a moment. I want to prevent all possibility of mistake. There may be a reply, and Harry, old chap, I'd rather not answer any questions."

Harry gazed at him a moment in perplexity. "All right, Ranald," he said, quietly, "you can trust me. I haven't the ghost of an idea what's up, but I know you're square."

"Thanks, old fellow," said Ranald, "I will never give you reason to change your opinion. Now get out; I'm awfully busy."

For some minutes after Harry had left the room Ranald sat gazing before him into space.

"Poor chap, he's got his fight, too, but I begin to think he'll win," he said to himself, and once more returned to his work. He had hardly begun his writing when the inner door of his office opened and Mr. St. Clair came in. His welcome was kindly and cordial, and Ranald's heart, which had been under strong discipline all morning, leaped up in warm response.

"You had a pleasant trip, I hope?" inquired Mr. St. Clair.

"Fine most of the way. Through May and June the flies were bad, but not so bad as usual, they said, and one gets used to them."

"Good sport?"

"Never saw anything like it. What a country that is!" cried Ranald, his enthusiasm carrying him away. "Fishing of all kinds and superb. In those little lonely lakes you get the finest black and white bass, beauties and so gamy. In the bigger waters, maskalonge and, of course, any amount of pike and pickerel. Then we were always running up against deer, moose and red, and everywhere we got the scent of bear. Could have loaded a boat with furs in a week."

"We must go up some day," replied Mr. St. Clair. "Wish I could get away this fall, but the fact is we are in shallow water, Ranald, and we can't take any chances."

Ranald knew well how serious the situation was. "But," continued Mr. St.

Clair, "this offer of the British-American Lumber and Coal Company is most fortunate, and will be the saving of us. With one hundred thousand set free we are certain to pull through this season, and indeed, the financial stringency will rather help than hinder our operations. Really it is most fortunate. Indeed," he added, with a slight laugh, "as my sister-in-law would say, quite providential!"

"I have no doubt of that," said Ranald, gravely; "but, Mr. St. Clair--"

"Yes, no doubt, no doubt," said Mr. St. Clair, hastening to recover the tone, which by his unfortunate reference to Mrs. Murray, he had lost.

The thought of her was not in perfect harmony with purely commercial considerations. "The fact is," he continued, "that before this offer came I was really beginning to despair. I can tell you that now."

Ranald felt his heart tighten.

"One does not mind for one's self, but when family interests are involved--but that's all over now, thank God!"

Ranald tried to speak, but his mind refused to suggest words. His silence, however, was enough for Mr. St. Clair, who, with nervous haste once more changed the theme. "In my note to you last night--you got it, I suppose--I referred to some changes in the firm."

Ranald felt that he was being crowded against the ropes. He must get to freer fighting ground. "I think before you go on to that, Mr. St.

Clair," he began, "I ought to--"

"Excuse me, I was about to say," interrupted Mr. St. Clair, hastily, "Mr. Raymond and I have felt that we must strengthen our executive. As you know, he has left this department almost entirely to me, and he now realizes what I have long felt, that the burden has grown too heavy for one to carry. Naturally we think of you, and I may say we are more than glad, though it is a very unusual thing in the business world, that we can, with the fullest confidence, offer you a partnership." Mr. St.

Clair paused to allow the full weight of this announcement to sink into his manager's mind.

Then Ranald pulled himself together. He must break free or the fight would be lost before he had struck a blow.

"I need not say," he began once more, "how greatly gratified I am by this offer, and I feel sure you will believe that I am deeply grateful."

Ranald's voice was low and even, but unknown to himself there was in it a tone of stern resolve that struck Mr. St. Clair's ear. He knew his manager. That tone meant war. Hastily he changed his front.

"Yes, yes, we are quite sure of that," he said, with increasing nervousness, "but we are thinking of our own interests as well as yours. Indeed, I feel sure"--here his voice became even more kindly and confidential--"that in advancing your position and prospects we are--I am only doing what will bring myself the greatest satisfaction in the end, for you know, Ranald, I--we do not regard you as a stranger."

Ranald winced and grew pale. "We--my family--have always felt toward you as--well, in fact, as if you were one of us."

Mr. St. Clair had delivered his last and deadliest blow and it found Ranald's heart, but with pain blanching his cheek Ranald stood up determined to end the fight. It was by no means easy for him to strike. Before him he saw not this man with his ingenious and specious pleading--it would not have been a difficult matter to have brushed him aside--but he was looking into the blue eyes of the woman he had for seven years loved more than he loved his life, and he knew that when his blow fell it would fall upon the face that, only a few hours ago, had smiled upon him, and upon the lips that had whispered to him, "I will remember, Ranald." Yet he was none the less resolved. With face set and bloodless, and eyes of gleaming fire, he faced the man that represented what was at once dearest in life and what was most loathsome in conduct.

"Give me a moment, Mr. St. Clair," he said, with a note of authority in his tone. "You have made me an offer of a position such as I could hardly hope to expect for years to come, but I value it chiefly because it means you have absolute confidence in me; you believe in my ability and in my integrity. I am determined that you will never have cause to change your opinion of me. You are about to complete a deal involving a very large sum of money. I have a report here," tapping his desk, "which you have not yet seen."

"It really doesn't matter!" interjected Mr. St. Clair; "you see, my dear fellow--"

"It matters to me. It is a report which not only you ought to have, but which, in justice, the buyer of the Bass River Limits ought to see. That report, Mr. St. Clair, ought to be given to Colonel Thorp."

"This is sheer folly," exclaimed Mr. St. Clair, impatiently.

"It is the only honorable course."

"Do you mean to insult me, sir?"

"There is only one other thing I would rather not do," said Ranald, in a grave voice, "and that is refuse Colonel Thorp the information he is entitled to from us."

"Sir!" exclaimed Mr. St. Clair, "this is outrageous, and I demand an apology or your resignation!"

"Colonel Thorp," announced a clerk, opening the door.

"Tell Colonel Thorp I cannot--ah, Colonel Thorp, I am glad to see you.

Will you step this way?" opening the door leading to his own office.

The colonel, a tall, raw-boned, typical "Uncle Sam," even to the chin whisker and quid of tobacco, had an eye like an eagle. He shot a keen glance at Mr. St. Clair and then at Ranald.

"Yes," he said, helping himself to a chair, "this here's all right. This is your manager, eh?"

"Mr. Macdonald," said Mr. St. Clair, introducing him.

"How do you do? Heard about you some," said the colonel, shaking hands with him. "Quite a knocker, I believe. Well, you rather look like it.

Used to do some myself. Been up north, so the boss says. Good country, eh?"

"Fine sporting country, Colonel," interrupted St. Clair. "The game, Mr.

Macdonald says, come right into your tent and bed to be shot."

"Do, eh?" The colonel's eagle eye lighted up. "Now, what sort of game?"

"Almost every kind, Colonel," replied Ranald.

"Don't say! Used to do a little myself. Moose?"