"Well, that is my affair," said Moira in an angry tone, and with a high head and lofty air she appeared in the doctor's presence.

But Dr. Martin was apparently oblivious of both her lofty air and the angle of her chin. He was struggling to suppress from observation a tumult of mingled pa.s.sions of jealousy, rage and humiliation. That this girl whom for four years he had loved with the full strength of his intense nature should have given herself to another was grief enough; but the fact that this other should have been a man of Smith's caliber seemed to add insult to his grief. He felt that not only had she humiliated him but herself as well.

"If she is the kind of girl that enjoys kissing Smith I don't want her,"

he said to himself savagely, and then cursed himself that he knew it was a lie. For no matter how she should affront him or humiliate herself he well knew he should take her gladly on his bended knees from Smith's hands. The cure somehow was not working, but he would allow no one to suspect it. His voice was even and his manner cheerful as ever. Only Mrs. Cameron, who held the key to his heart, suspected the agony through which he was pa.s.sing during the tea-hour. And it was to secure respite for him that the tea was hurried and the doctor packed off to saddle Pepper and round up the cows for the milking.

Pepper was by birth and breeding a cow-horse, and once set upon a trail after a bunch of cows he could be trusted to round them up with little or no aid from his rider. Hence once astride Pepper and Pepper with his nose pointed toward the ranging cows, the doctor could allow his heart to roam at will. And like a homing pigeon, his heart, after some faint struggles in the grip of its owner's will, made swift flight toward the far-away Highland glen across the sea, the Cuagh Oir.

With deliberate purpose he set himself to live again the tender and ineffaceable memories of that eventful visit to the glen when first his eyes were filled with the vision of the girl with the sunny hair and the sunny eyes who that day seemed to fill the very glen and ever since that day his heart with glory.

With deliberate purpose, too, he set himself to recall the glen itself, its lights and shadows, its purple hilltops, its emerald loch far down at the bottom, the little clachan on the hillside and up above it the old manor-house. But ever and again his heart would pause to catch anew some flitting glance of the brown eyes, some turn of the golden head, some cadence of the soft Highland voice, some fitful illusive sweetness of the smile upon the curving lips, pause and return upon its tracks to feel anew that subtle rapture of the first poignant thrill, lingering over each separate memory as a drunkard lingers regretful over his last sweet drops of wine.

Meantime Pepper's intelligent diligence had sent every cow home to its milking, and so, making his way by a short cut that led along the Big Horn River and round the poplar bluff, the doctor, suddenly waking from his dream of the past, faced with a fresh and sharper stab the reality of the present. The suddenness and sharpness of the pain made him pull his horse up short.

"I'll cut this country and go East," he said aloud, coming to a conclusive decision upon a plan long considered, "I'll go in for specializing. I have done with all this nonsense."

He sat his horse looking eastward over the hills that rolled far away to the horizon. His eye wandered down the river gleaming now like gold in the sunset glow. He had learned to love this land of great sunlit s.p.a.ces and fresh blowing winds, but this evening its very beauty appeared intolerable to him. Ever since the death of Raven upon that tragic night of the cattle-raid he had been fighting his bitter loss and disappointment; with indifferent success, it is true, but still not without the hope of attaining final peace of soul. This evening he knew that, while he lived in this land, peace would never come to him, for his heart-wound never would heal.

"I will go," he said again. "I will say good-by to-night. By Jove! I feel better already. Come along, Pepper! Wake up!"

Pepper woke up to some purpose and at a smart canter carried the doctor on his way round the bluff toward a gate that opened into a lane leading to the stables. At the gate a figure started up suddenly from the shadow of a poplar. With a snort and in the midst of his stride Pepper swung on his heels with such amazing abruptness that his rider was flung from his saddle, fortunately upon his feet.

"Confound you for a dumb-headed fool! What are you up to anyway?" he cried in a sudden rage, recognizing Smith, who stood beside the trail in an abjectly apologetic att.i.tude.

"Yes," cried another voice from the shadow. "Is he not a fool? You would think he ought to know Mr. Smith by this time. But Pepper is really very stupid."

The doctor stood speechless, surprise, disgust and rage struggling for supremacy among his emotions. He stood gazing stupidly from one to the other, utterly at a loss for words.

"You see, Mr. Smith," began Moira somewhat lamely, "had something to say to me and so we--and so we came--along to the gate."

"So I see," replied the doctor gruffly.

"You see Mr. Smith has come to mean a great deal to me--to us--"

"So I should imagine," replied the doctor.

"His self-sacrifice and courage during those terrible days we can never forget."

"Exactly so--quite right," replied the doctor, standing stiffly beside his horse's head.

"You do not know people all at once," continued Moira.

"Ah! Not all at once," the doctor replied.

"But in times of danger and trouble one gets to know them quickly."

"Sure thing," said the doctor.

"And it takes times of danger to bring out the hero in a man."

"I should imagine so," replied the doctor with his eyes on Smith's childlike and beaming face.

"And you see Mr. Smith was really our whole stay, and--and--we came to rely upon him and we found him so steadfast." In the face of the doctor's stolid brevity Moira was finding conversation difficult.

"Steadfast!" repeated the doctor. "Exactly so," his eyes upon Smith's wobbly legs. "Mr. Smith I consider a very fortunate man. I congratulate him on--"

"Oh, have you heard? I did not know that--"

"Yes. I mean--not exactly."

"Who told you? Is it not splendid?" enthusiasm shining in her eyes.

"Splendid! Yes--that is, for him," replied the doctor without emotion.

"I congratulate--"

"But how did you hear?"

"I did not exactly hear, but I had no difficulty in--ah--making the discovery."

"Discovery?"

"Yes, discovery. It was fairly plain; I might say it was the feature of the view; in fact it stuck right out of the landscape--hit you in the eye, so to speak."

"The landscape? What can you mean?"

"Mean? Simply that I am at a loss as to whether Mr. Smith is to be congratulated more upon his exquisite taste or upon his extraordinary good fortune."

"Good fortune, yes, is it not splendid?"

"Splendid is the exact word," said the doctor stiffly.

"And I am so glad."

"Yes, you certainly look happy," replied the doctor with a grim attempt at a smile, and feeling as if more enthusiasm were demanded from him.

"Let me offer you my congratulations and say good-by. I am leaving."

"You will be back soon, though?"

"Hardly. I am leaving the West."

"Leaving the West? Why? What? When?"

"To-night. Now. I must say good-by."

"To-night? Now?" Her voice sank almost to a whisper. Her lips were white and quivering. "But do they know at the house? Surely this is sudden."

"Oh, no, not so sudden. I have thought of it for some time; indeed, I have made my plans."

"Oh--for some time? You have made your plans? But you never hinted such a thing to--to any of us."