Chapter IV: Part 4

"Well, I don't know what to make of Thurston. It really looks as though that little thing has bewitched him--that little blonde thing--it's too absurd!--ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!--she's clever, though!--she runs the entire tribe of them--mother, father and grandmother. She can turn Thurston round her little finger--em--en! Perhaps I ought to devise some means of getting him away from here. I promised his mother to look after him. But then the hunting is just about to commence, and I've been looking forward to it--so long--besides, what would Mrs. Bunker say?"

Catching pollywogs was one of Indiana's favorite recreations. She kept them in bottles for the pleasure of seeing them turn into frogs.

"Look at this little one! How beautifully green and speckled!" She held the little squirming, slippery thing fondly in her hand.

"I wish I were a pollywog!" said Lord Canning.

This remark, coming from such a source, appealed to Indiana's sense of humor. She laughed until the tears rose to her eyes, while Lord Canning surveyed her with a deeply injured expression.

"It's most unkind of you to ridicule my ambitions in this way, Miss Stillwater."

"And such lofty ambitions, too."

"They were--once, but they have gradually diminished, until now I am quite satisfied to be a pollywog--but that one in your hand, you understand."

Indiana put it into the bottle, then leaned back on the soft ground clasping her hands behind her head.

"Tired--so soon? But you weary of most things like this, I have perceived--a truly feminine trait." He lit a cigar.

It was one of those fair, bright autumn days, when one could imagine it was June instead of September, were it not for the glorious splashes of color that enlivened the lake.

"Do you notice," said Indiana, gazing upward through the pines, "how near the sky seems to us here?"

"Yes," said Lord Canning, "heaven seems very near to me here"--he bent down, looking into her eyes--"very near, and sometimes very far--"

The sound of a mandolin floated to them over the water.

"Glen!" cried Indiana, starting up. Lord Canning rose also, self-contained and somewhat pale. They watched the boat growing larger. Burt was rowing and Glen playing, "My Georgia Lady-love." Indiana stood up and waved her handkerchief.

"Why does he play that now?" she thought. "He played it that day in the orchard--when he told me--and I was sorry for him. It was such a beautiful day! He said there would never be another--maybe there won't.

"'Way down in dear old Georgia State,
We parted--but she said she would wait--'"

sang Indiana, to the familiar strains. "There were so many apple-blossoms, and they were falling--falling over my face, my neck, my hair. The sky was so blue when I looked up through the blossoms--a different blue from this--

'She slowly dropped her head,
And then she softly said:
'Mister Johnson, 'deed I loves you too.''

We cried and made ourselves miserable--I wanted to kiss and comfort him, I wanted to whisper what he wished to hear--but something held me back. I was sorry for myself as well as for him. I wanted to please everyone--his folks and mine--but I couldn't. I didn't know then--I was waiting for this. But I'm sorry for Glen--so sorry!" She saw the boat through a mist of tears and the mandolin sounded far, very far away, as though Glen were still playing it in the orchard of her memory, where the blossoms fell, in a last rosy glow of the sun.

Lord Canning watched her, jealous of the new expression on her face. He realized she was carried away by some recollection in which Glen held a part. "A boy-and-girl affair, probably," he thought. "There is always a boy-and-girl affair, but it seldom amounts to anything--very seldom."

Glen joyfully recognized Indiana waving from the shore. "Looks as though she'd been standing watching for me ever so long, but that's too much to expect." Burt rowed slowly in, while Glen waved his cap, gaily. Indiana ran down to the dock to meet him, slowly followed by Lord Canning.

"Well, Glen, here you are at last!"

"Glad to see me back, Indiana?" he asked, holding her hand, while Lord Canning stood discreetly in the background.

"Cause--Lord Canning, this is Glen Masters, my old friend and playmate--the Right Honourable Thurston Ralph Canning, Viscount. Right?"

"Perfectly."

"Glen's a character," continued Indiana, "he hates cities."

"I do, sir," said Glen, rather aggressively. "But I'm not out of the swim. I keep myself thoroughly posted upon politics and literature of the world."

"He fought in the Spanish-American war," said Indiana, putting her hand proudly on his shoulder.

"And when it was over," laughed Glen, "I came, like Cincinnatus, back to the plow. My father's been working a farm this spring for his health, and I've been helping him."

"Character, brain, muscle," observed Lord Canning. "That is the stuff which has made the American nation what it is to-day." He extended his hand to Glen, who grasped it without enthusiasm.

"Mail for me, Indiana?"

"Yes, it's all up in your room." He took his coat and several other things from the boat.

"Did you have a nice time?" asked Indiana.

"Oh, I'll tell you all about it later. We had a fine time, lots of sport. I must go and shake hands with the folks now, and read my mail. See you later, sir." He swung his coat over his shoulder and saluted them, military fashion.

"Will you take me for a walk, Miss Stillwater?"

Indiana looked hesitatingly up at the camp.

"Oh, perhaps you would prefer to stay and talk with your old playmate. Do as you feel inclined, Miss Stillwater." But he looked distinctively aggrieved.

"Oh, no," said Indiana, carelessly. "There is plenty of time for that. He will tell us his experiences around the fire to-night. Where would you like to go?"

"Oh, let us simply follow one of those little 'trails' through the woods--one of those charming little trails, which one loses, and finds again, like a broken thread of thought, in the forest. There is always the murmur of some distant stream, which one vaguely hopes to reach--and sometimes a glimpse of blue sky through the dark pines."

*CHAPTER X.*

*The Might of the Falls*

"She doesn't look a day over thirty! Remarkable!" said Lord Stafford.

"She grasps the ideas I present to her with astonishing quickness," answered his nephew, absently. "A very bright, eager mind. She has innate refinement and tact--for all her unconventional freedom of manner, which is only the outcome of her unconsciousness--and that is, after all, her particular charm, her unconsciousness. I catch a glimpse, now and then, of a certain wildness of spirit. I fear she would beat her wings against--certain fetters--unless--unless--well, it is most interesting to watch the phases of this young, tender nature--the product of a new civilization."

"Thurston, who in the world are you talking about?"

"Miss Stillwater, of course!"

"I thought so. You were talking about the young one and I was talking about the old one. It's very irritating--you've done that before."

"When did I do it before? And be kind enough to explain who you mean by 'the old one'?"

"Mrs. Bunker, of course."

"Oh, Mrs. Bunker!" repeated Lord Canning, with a sarcastic intonation. "I presume I have the same right to talk about Miss Stillwater as you have to talk--about Mrs. Bunker, Uncle Nelson!"

"No one's disputing your right, but you're continually talking about her!"

"I wasn't aware I monopolized the conversation to that degree."

"Well, you do. You're continually 'studying' her and relating the results of your observations. I should think you would know her by heart before you left her."

"Unfortunately, so far, I have not been allowed an opportunity for such extended knowledge. I'm rarely left alone with her long enough for a proper interchange of ideas. There are always so many plans and excursions on foot."

"By George, you're off with her all the time, somewhere!"

"Not for long," said Lord Canning, gloomily. "Before one is aware, it's lunch or dinner--meals are so interfering! What's that?" Lord Stafford peered out of the window. They were sitting in his room, which was flooded with moonlight.

"It's that Masters fellow. He's playing his mandolin on the lake. Fancy, at this hour!"

They smoked for awhile in silence, listening. It was long after twelve.

"We're going on a moonlight picnic to the Falls to-morrow night."

"Are we?"

"So Mrs. Bunker told me. We drove there our first day here--don't you remember?"

Lord Canning looked at his uncle in utter contempt.

"Do I remember? What a delightful day it was, that first day! And how many delightful days we have had since! Let me see. We have been here going on four weeks--is it possible?"

"That poor chap," with an inclination of his head toward the lake, "seems awfully cut up about Miss Stillwater!" Lord Stafford watched his nephew closely. "Why don't you retire and leave him the field? You may as well, you know, first as last."

"I have no intention of doing it--first or last!"

"The devil you haven't!"

"Uncle Nelson, I have made up my mind to marry Miss Stillwater!"

"Good God! Your mother!"

"My mother will be satisfied with whatever is to result in my happiness. This is the only thing in my life I have ever intensely desired."

"Think it over--well over. You may change your mind."

"I have thought it over. You remember when I climbed Mt. Marsy with Haller. The night we spent on the summit--I never closed my eyes. In the morning I watched the sun rise over the forests, mountains and lakes. Such a young, rejoicing world! And I stood above it all, sleepless, miserable, old! The questions I had asked all night seemed vain and trivial. I was simply answered. 'Be happy!' said the new-born world, bathed in dew and light."

"I promised your mother to look after you," insisted Lord Stafford, weakly.

His nephew put up his hand in laughing remonstrance, then grew instantly grave. "Do you remember that log I threw in the Notch? How it was tossed and whirled onward, like a leaf, by the might of the falls? I am as helpless in the force that has now taken possession of me. I have ceased to reason. I am going--wherever the falls will send me." He drank deeply from the glass which stood at his elbow, Lord Stafford regarding him helplessly. They talked into the small hours of the morning.

Late in the afternoon Stillwater sat in a sunny corner of the balcony, reading the Herald. One hand held a nut, which a chipmunk was speculatively watching in the shadow of the big balsam tree. Whenever he ventured near, a rustle of the paper sent him scampering back to the branches, It was the first week of October and they were having Indian summer. The evergreens on the borders of the lake were a sombre background to the gorgeous autumn color of the beech and maple trees. The mountains were covered with an Oriental carpet of blended browns, greens, and reds. Mrs. Bunker came out on the balcony, shading her eyes to look on the lake.

"No sign of them yet."

"How long are your English friends going to stay?"

Mrs. Bunker leaned carelessly against the rustic railing. "I'm sure I don't know. Lord Stafford is a devoted sportsman, and his nephew is accumulating information about the country. They're both taken with the place, and--the people in it," she smiled, in a self-conscious way at her son-in-law. He looked at her closely. She wore a tailor-made gown, showing the fine lines of her tall figure. A scarlet cape dropped carelessly off her shoulders. Masses of silvery hair, piled artistically on top of her head, presented a striking contrast to her dark, youthful eyes.

"Grandma Chazy! You don't think of marrying again?"

Mrs. Bunker laughed as though her sense of humor had been irresistably touched. "I can't help guying Lord Stafford. He looks at me with those owl eyes, and takes all my jokes for solemn earnest."

"You will flirt, Grandma."

"I will, while there's a breath left in my body--but I'm not the only marriageable candidate in the house."

"Now, keep your match-making hands off Indiana," he said, rising and throwing down the paper. "I won't have it. If she marries away from us, it will break her mother's heart. If I thought you had any such schemes in your head--"

"Wouldn't you like to see Indiana Lady Canning?" she asked sweetly.

"No!" exclaimed Stillwater decidedly. "My girl's a good, little Yankee and she shan't emigrate." He passed up and down the balcony, talking excitedly. "Yes, there's rich emigrants and poor emigrants--and it's leaving your country, bag and baggage. England's got the flower of our women already, and of course, now the men are following suit."

"You talk like a backwood's man," said Mrs. Bunker, contemptuously. "You've never been abroad."

"No. You can do the globe-trotting for the family. Is there anything better than this--in Europe?" He gave a comprehensive sweep of his head toward the lake and the woods. "Those Englishmen are wild over the place." Mrs. Bunker folded her arms patiently, while he continued his restless promenade. "Hit me between the eyes with the Jungfrau--what's the matter with the Rockies? All the snow I want--there. Where can you see another Niagara or a Yellowstone Park--or a stretch of balsam woods, like we have here in the Adirondacks--or a--"

"My dear Horatio," interrupted Mrs. Bunker, "your spread-eagleism is wasted on me. You can be sure of one thing--when Indiana marries, we won't be consulted. She'll please herself--"

Mr. Stillwater brought his hand down on the railing. "She can have anything the world affords--but I won't buy her a title!"

Mrs. Bunker swept inside, laughing good humoredly. Seating herself by the fire in the hall, she took up a square of chamois upon which she was embroidering the head of an Indian chief, in full war-paint.

"The others not back yet?" asked Glen, entering presently. "They're making a day of it." He placed the gun he carried in a corner of the hall and threw himself into a chair by the fire. "Those Englishmen are having the time of their lives. Lord Canning monopolizes Indiana, without considering whether it's agreeable to her--"

"She's not the kind to sacrifice herself, Glen," said Mrs. Bunker, smiling, and setting colored stones among the feathers on the forehead of the Indian chief.

Glen stared into the fire.

"I think they've been here quite long enough."

"You're jealous," said Mrs. Bunker, laughing.

He looked at her with kindled eyes. "I am," he answered. "I confess it--horribly jealous!"

Again Mrs. Bunker laughed.

"You don't take me seriously, Mrs. Bunker."

"That's the trouble. I'm trying to laugh you out of this thing for your own good." She laid down her work and looked at him sympathizingly.

"Yes, I know you mean all right by me," he said with a sigh which was almost a sob. "But you needn't try to laugh me out of it--you can't do that."

"My dear Glen, you're making it very hard for your yourself! Take my advice for once."

"You can't laugh me out of it," he repeated, burying his face in his hands.

"I'll talk to you just as if you were my own--I've often wished I had a son. I could have done so much for him--I could have made something of a son of mine. You are a young fellow, with every advantage that money can give--handsome, and healthy, and clever. The world's before you. Rise up and be a man! Crush this thing under your feet! Don't consider your life is over before it's begun--because you can't have the first thing you happened to wish for. Love isn't the only thing in life--especially for a man. Look at the sphere a man has for his activity! I sometimes feel like shaking some of you!"

"You don't understand--you don't know--what a hold it has taken of me!"

"Nonsense! Make an effort! It's in you. You're a soldier--there are other battles to be fought beside those on the battlefield."

"I know. And I'll fight--when I must. It hasn't come to that yet. I haven't given up hope. Don't talk to me as if I were a coward. I went off to Manila, and I loved her then. I didn't know when I wished her good-bye but that it might be the last time I should ever see her. But it wasn't so bad as this man walking in here, a perfect stranger, and trying to steal her under my very eyes--when I've known her all my life. And what does it all mean? Fine talk--a little extra polish!"

"Lord Canning's a very interesting man--a man who holds a high position in England. Indiana also has her future to make. You mustn't expect because you've played with her as a child--well, what is the use of talking sense to you!"

"You mean well by me, Mrs. Bunker, and I thank you for it--you may be even right in what you say. You've travelled a great deal and met hosts of people, and you're very experienced, but you don't understand. This has been growing in me before I knew--growing with my growth--and growing after I knew--it's tearing a flower from the roots!" He rose abruptly and leaned against the door.

"Come out," called Stillwater. "What are you sitting over the fire for? The sun feels fine to-day! This is great weather! I'm half sorry that I didn't join the rest and bring down a few birds. Here's a boat coming in now. Lord Stafford's man with Haller."

"I don't see anything of Indiana nowadays, since those Englishmen have been here."

Mr. Stillwater looked at him significantly. "Well, they'll be gone soon--then we'll have her all to ourselves again, my boy!"

"Mr. Stillwater, you--you don't think Indiana cares for that man, do you?"

"No!" replied Mr. Stillwater, scornfully.

"He's a man of position," said Glen, "and she's flattered--that's all."

"That's all," repeated Stillwater, putting his feet up on the rustic railing.

"And another thing," Glen lowered his voice, "I suppose Mrs. Bunker's been getting in some of her fine work."

Stillwater winked. "You can depend on that. Hi, Flash!" Flash ran up, the bottles in the lunch-basket he carried rattling loudly. He bowed obsequiously, out of breath, as he neared the camp. "What sport?"

"Magnificent, sir! Partridges as thick as rabbits! Their lordships and the young lady h'is a coming, sir."

"That'll do," as Flash stood bowing and scraping. "I can't stand the crawling ways of these English servants," remarked Stillwater.

"Neither can I," said Glen.

"Well, Mr. Flash, look where you're going!" exclaimed Kitty, as Flash ran precipitately against her.

"Miss Kitty!"--he bowed exaggeratedly--"ten thousand pardons!"

"Give an account of yourself! Where are the folks?"

"They're h'on the lake. We 'ad a fine day's sport! I've never seen 'is lordship in good temper for twelve consecutive hours before. And their h'appetites, bless 'em!"--Flash whirled the basket in the air--"the h'eatables 'ave vanished and they've drained the bottles!"

"That's good!" said Kitty, relieving him of the basket. Flash sank down on a rustic bench with a sigh of fatigue.

"So the lordships are enjoying themselves?" Kitty seated herself beside him and looked meditatively at her shoes. "A lucky day for them when they fell in with the Stillwaters! We are celebrated for being magnificent entertainers."

"Are you?" said Flash, with a stare that comprehended every detail of her trim personality. Kitty was a source of much entertainment to him, besides being an unending study and a continuous novelty. Kitty, conscious of the stare, rose with a toss of her chestnut head. "I'm going down to the lake to watch for the folks."

"Stay 'ere, Miss Kitty!" pleaded Flash. "Don't compel me to mount this 'ill again!"

"There's really no necessity that you should accompany me, Mr. Flash." She deposited the basket within, and strolled down through the trees. Flash surveyed her from where he was sitting. Her smooth, shining hair was mounted by a modish black bow. She wore a little dainty, ruffled apron.

"Very neat!" he murmured, then rose with an effort and caught up with her.

"It's a big thing, as you say in h'America, to be 'unting and 'unting for miles and miles, and still be 'unting on your own 'unting grounds."

"I should say so! Mr. Stillwater bought up all that land you're talking about, years ago. It's worth ten times more now than what he paid for it. It's for that model farm."

"H'if all you've been telling me h'is true, I'm glad. I'm an h'expert on farming. I 'ave never seen h'anything like you describe, h'even in Devonshire."

"The farm's only a fad of Mr. Stillwater's. You should see our home in Indiana!"

"I say, Kitty," he looked confidentially in her face, "'ow much is 'e estimated at? Say two 'undred thousand pounds?"

Kitty laughed contemptuously.

"Three? Five?"

"Mr. Flash, you're quite a nice young man, but you're very unexperienced. A man who knows how rich he is, is not a rich man in America. He's only well off. Mr. Stillwater has reached that stage where money is never even mentioned!"

"H'is it possible!" exclaimed Flash.

"I think I see the folks. So in future, Mr. Flash, when they say a man's rich in America you will understand he is not limited to figures."

William was rowing them all in. They were talking and laughing in the highest spirits. Mrs. Bunker came down through the trees in her scarlet cape, still holding her work.

"A most enjoyable day's sport, Mrs. Bunker," said Lord Stafford.

"You did bravely to-day, Miss Stillwater," praised Lord Canning.

"Not _Still*water," said Indiana, in a drawling voice. "Still*water_."

"I'm afraid I shall never conquer your proper names. As for your wonderful charms--"

"I'll give you a lesson," interrupted Indiana. "Suppose you saw a chubby little partridge over there in the scrub fern and wanted to bag him--what would you say?"

Lord Canning took his gun and levelled it in the direction indicated.

"I should say, I'm afraid the little fellow's out of gunshot, but I'll try."

"That's not American--to be afraid!"

"No, you'd guess."

"I--guess--when there's game to bring down! Never!" She seized her gun and levelled it at him. "I'd just bag him! Aren't you afraid?"

"No," looking at her meaningly, "ready and eager to be sacrificed!"

Indiana dropped her gun, laughing rather coquettishly.

"Good hunting, Indiana?" asked Mrs. Bunker.

"Good hunting, Grandma Chazy," answered Indiana, with a comprehensive look at Lord Stafford. "You see we know our Kipling, Lord Canning."

"I've ordered tea in the boat-house," said Mrs. Bunker.

"I'm glad you did. It would be a pity to leave the lake to-day."

Up in the cozy little room of the boat-house the logs were crackling. Gay sporting prints adorned the green walls.

"Will you have this chair, Miss Stillwater? Right this time? So glad! It was quite an effort, I assure you." He thought as he drew her chair near the fire--"Perhaps I shall not be obliged to make the effort long. What an endless source of pleasure it will be to call her--Indiana!"

"I suppose you're all dying for a cup of tea," said Mrs. Bunker, seating herself at the tea-table, while Lord Stafford sank into an arm-chair near the fire, warming his hands at the blaze.

"Where are the rest?" inquired Indiana.

"Your father and mother are having their tea together on the balcony. They're perfectly happy. I believe, Glen's there too."

"The devotion of your father and mother is very touching to me," remarked Lord Canning.

"They've always been like that--ever since I can remember," said Indiana.

"It's very beautiful to see, in these days of marital indifference and incompatibility."

"They'll be lovers to the end of the chapter," declared Mrs. Bunker. "And there's Lord Stafford enjoying his single blessedness. Think what you're missing!"

"Ha, ha, ha! Yes, Mrs. Bunker, but at present this delightful cup of tea is a great consolation."

"What have you found most interesting in the States, Lord Canning?" asked Mrs. Bunker.

"Well, I should say--" he hesitated, holding his cup and gazing contemplatively out at the lake.

"Don't be afraid to commit yourself," added Mrs. Bunker, quickly. "You English hate to make a positive assertion."

"Quite so, Mrs. Bunker," returned Lord Canning amusedly. "We think more slowly than you do--and you have asked me a very difficult question."

"I'll answer it for you," volunteered Indiana. "Your uncle has come to America to shoot things, and you for scientific purposes--ostensibly. But you spend night after night over your brandy and soda, discussing the American woman."

"Remarkable!" ejaculated Lord Stafford, adjusting his monocle and staring at Indiana.

"How did you find us out, Miss Stillwater?" Lord Canning laughed heartily.

Lord Stafford drew his chair closer to the tea-table.

"Are you not a very remarkable woman, Mrs. Bunker, even in this country of remarkable women?"

"You'll find women like me all over the States. You see we don't become old before our time--to make way for the girls. I had my daughter to rear, and I did it as well as I knew how. Then I superintended my granddaughter's training. Now she's a woman, I'm commencing all over again on my account." She laughed heartily at the serious countenance with which Lord Stafford heard her explanation.

"Remarkable, Lord Stafford, or bewildering--which?" She smiled archly into his face.

"Charming, this time, charming, I assure you!"

"The lake looks so blue and enticing from here! Shall we drink our second cup on the balcony, Miss Stillwater?"

Indiana assenting, Lord Canning brought her empty cup to Mrs. Bunker. "Make yourself comfortable in the hammock, Miss Stillwater. I will be out directly, with a fresh supply."

"Don't spill it, Lord Canning! Really your hand is very steady--a good sign! Another--with me, Lord Stafford?"

"I will take another with you, Mrs. Bunker."

He returned the cup and leaned comfortably back in his chair, enjoying the cosiness of his surroundings--the proximity of the fire, the blue lake shining in the distance, and the domestic picture afforded by Mrs. Bunker at the tea-table.

"How is it that a good catch like you has escaped the matrimonial anglers so long?" she asked confidentially, as she sipped her tea.

Lord Stafford stirred his cup in amused embarrassment, quite at a loss for an answer.

"Now, why don't you marry?" continued Mrs. Bunker.

"Er--er--I'm rather sensitive about being asked such personal questions," gasped Lord Stafford. "My own sister never asked me that!" He resumed a reminiscent expression. "She asked me if I should marry, but never why--never why!"

"You'll tell me, won't you?" urged Mrs. Bunker, sweetly.

"Oh, by George, I declare I've never even asked myself that question!"

"Well, I should be quick! Start an investigation committee and find out something about yourself. You don't know how long you are going to live."

"Mrs. Bunker, one never knows what you are going to say next."

"The lake has a ruby necklace," remarked Lord Canning, looking up from his note-book, in which he had been writing while Indiana rested in the hammock. The deep red coloring of the bank mirrored along the shore as far as one could see. "Ah, there is Mr. Masters going out in a canoe!" He watched Glen's well-knit figure as he paddled with swift, unerring strokes, clearing a perfectly straight line down the centre of the lake. "A very fine specimen of young manhood," he thought.

Later there was a tinge of rose on the mountains, gradually fading into purple. Glen remained on the lake watching the sunset. His solitary canoe rested in a spot commanding a view of White Face Mountain--that which Lord Canning had called the Mount of Perfection. Its giant shadow lay on the lake, with the purple glow on its towering peak. He was discouraged and depressed. The transient purple glow on the water reflected itself in his spirit for the moment. Then it faded, leaving the dark shadow of the mountain on the lake and a chill in the air. He paddled slowly homeward. He had isolated himself from the rest lately and spent his time restlessly roaming the woods with his gun, which lay for the most part neglected beside him, while he asked constantly of a blue patch in the pines why he should be robbed of his birthright of happiness. The pines, bending and sighing over him, whispered always the same consolation, as a sad nun, weeping with the stricken, will speak the lesson of submission she has learned, and, knowing nothing else, repeat it many times again.

*CHAPTER XI.*

*A Moonlight Picnic.*

They were all jubilant during dinner at the prospect of the moonlight picnic. When they emerged 'The Indiana' waited at the dock, illuminated with colored lanterns. The camp-fire burned brightly as usual. Haller sat on the steps with a lantern, ready to light them down to the lake.

"Just eight," said Stillwater, looking at his watch.

"No hurry," assured Mrs. Bunker. "This is to be an all-night affair."

Haller chuckled.

"Dissipation in the woods--fancy!" remarked Lord Stafford.

The electric lights on the balcony were arranged to give only a subdued glow. Glen played his mandolin softly while coffee was served, his eyes fixed on Lord Canning and Indiana, who were talking in a very gay, lively strain.

"The Pacific coast is a great hunting ground, Lord Stafford," began Stillwater. "I've heard stories about bands of elk that once roamed the San Joaquin Valley in California, living on plains same as the buffaloes--miles away from anything like cover."

"Remarkable!" said Lord Stafford, while Haller listened with open-mouthed surprise.

"You see there was no demand for them before the discovery of gold, but when the miners came they wanted meat. And then there were travelling bands of bloodthirsty explorers. They and the miners murdered everything in sight--the white man generally does. I was told that the great novelist Dumas landed there in 1849, and one of his first performances was to kill an elk in Sacramento Valley."

"Indeed, an interesting fact! These vast herds of elk retreated--where?"

"To the Great Red Woods."

"Haller," called Glen, "I'd like to climb White Face to-morrow; it's such clear weather."

"'Tis clear," replied Haller. "Liable to have snow on White Face."

"Are you going to put me in your book?" asked Indiana. "Am I the type of American woman you will describe?"

"I am not going to put you in my book," answered Lord Canning. "I am going to put you--well, never mind. You are not the type--you are a type."

"That's so," assented Indiana. "The states are too large for any one distinctive type of woman. We all have that 'must-be-up-and-doing' kind of spirit. You call it 'nervous activity.' The Southern girl is neutrally active; the Eastern girl aggressively active."

"The Western girl--" suggested Lord Canning.

"Judge for yourself." She stood before him, her hands clasped behind her. "Physically light weight, but strong. I can climb a tree, vault a fence, ride a horse bareback, straddle and side-saddle. Mentally light-weight, but bright, with an enormous faculty for devouring literature, good, bad and indifferent. I love good music, and the impressionist school of painting. Character undeveloped; politically, an expansionist. I believe in the imperialistic policy, in annexation--stretching out and grabbing everything I can get."

"Bravo! Charming!" exclaimed Lord Canning, clapping his hands. "You are most interesting."

"As a study--or--or--a woman."

"Both," said Lord Canning. "When I cease to study your imperfections, I commence to love them." He bent over her, looking into her eyes. Glen struck a discord on the mandolin.

"I suggest that we start," interrupted Mrs. Bunker.

Lord Canning stood seriously gazing into the fire in the hall, while the ladies donned their wraps. His face brightened when he saw Indiana on the little balcony behind the Persian rug. She had put on a long white circular. The hood, edged with swansdown, made a pretty frame for her little flushed face. Her eyes, with their dilating pupils, looked dark under the yellow hair.

"Come down, little snow maiden! Or, are you afraid you will melt away in the heat of the fire?"

He met her at the foot of the stairs, and took her hand in a tender pressure. Mrs. Bunker coughed slightly behind them, and Indiana ran quickly out on the balcony, leaving Lord Canning under the amused fire of Mrs. Bunker's bright eyes. She shook her finger at him, and would have followed Indiana, but Lord Canning did not wish to be taken so lightly.

"Mrs. Bunker," he said in a low, intense voice, grasping the balustrade, "one moment, if you please. It may not be considered anything in America when a man of my age is seen holding the hand of such a very young girl, but, I am not a believer in light sentiment--flirting, perhaps, would be the term. I love your granddaughter!"

"It's easy enough to see that," laughed Mrs. Bunker. It was always amusing to her when people took themselves so seriously. "You have my good wishes. I have always thought very highly of you."

She held out her hand, which he pressed gratefully in his. "Thank you, Mrs. Bunker. Have you any idea if--if she cares for me?"

"The little minx is too smart for me," answered Mrs. Bunker.

"She is so non-committal," said Lord Canning. "I know she esteems me and all that; at times, I have fancied that I even interest her. But as to--" he gazed gloomily into the fire. "Well, it will be necessary for me to clinch things very soon, time is passing with dangerous rapidity--but still passing. Mrs. Bunker, when I met you in Cannes over a year ago, I did not know what a great influence you were fated to throw on my life. If she loves me, I will never forget that it is through you--"

"Don't thank me--yet," said Mrs. Bunker, shrewdly. "Wait until you're married a year."

"Oh, I have no fears on that score," asserted Lord Canning, with a very self-confident air.

"You don't know Indiana. If you attempted to cross her, she'd tear your hair out!"

"Goodness gracious!" exclaimed Lord Canning, laughing heartily. "Don't think you can frighten me by a little thing like that!"

"If I thought so," reflected Mrs. Bunker, "I wouldn't have told you, no matter how true it might be. Oh, nothing would stop you now, Lord Canning!"

"Nothing! I have lived a very matter-of-fact life--never very miserable, or the other extreme. I have had great satisfaction in my work. Now it's time I snatched a little happiness."

"Indeed it is," said Mrs. Bunker, in a soothing voice. Men, to her, were like big children--to be humored.

They had moved gradually toward the fire. "These logs," continued Lord Canning, "are a magnet towards which my eyes have been drawn every night since I came. If you knew what I see in them--such a sweet domestic picture, a vision of true happiness!"

"Well, don't depend too much on Indiana's domesticity," said Mrs. Bunker.

"We generally gauge a daughter by her mother, in England," stated Lord Canning.

"Well, it's different over here. The young generation are so precocious--so far ahead of the mothers."

"I do not call it an advance. The daughters would do well to copy their mothers in their allegiance to the home. I hope, if Indiana does me the honor to consent--"

"Well, you can have that out with her. She may be a model of domesticity, but you never know how a girl's going to develop. You can't be sure of everything"--she laughed mockingly--"that's the risk of marriage."

"I am staking everything on this one card--marriage," said Lord Canning.

"Why will you men play so high?" queried Mrs. Bunker, laughing again, as she swept out on the balcony.

"Why?" echoed Lord Canning, looking into the fire. His dark eyes smiled at what he saw there--the picture he had described in the glowing logs, had been his answer. "Yes, it is time I snatched a little happiness--how little, after all! The rest of my natural life seems short enough to love her in."

"We're going, Lord Canning," called Mrs. Bunker.

He hurried out, offering his arm to Indiana, as the procession followed Haller down to the boat-house. The lake by moonlight was a scene of such mysterious beauty that no one felt inclined to talk. Lord Canning was somewhat disposed to question the reality of his surroundings. He was drifting down a silvery sea of enchantment, Indiana's white-robed form at his side. Oblivious of criticism, he scarcely took his eyes from her young face, etherealized in the moonlight. Glen watched his loverlike attitude, with growing anger. To the various camps along the lake, the illuminated launch, passing with the faint strains of the mandolin, presented quite a fairy-like spectacle. Later, driving through the country, they were all talkative and lively, regaling the night with choruses, Glen playing and singing with a gayety he was far from feeling. Stillwater, who drove, complied, unhesitatingly, to a request for the old road. Lord Canning sat silent and spellbound the entire way, watching the stream winding before him--touched with tremulous waves of silver; the little islands dreaming in a moonlit haze.

William had been sent over to prepare, early in the afternoon. When the party arrived, the falls were illuminated by colored lanterns, decorating the rustic bridges, and hanging from the trees. They added a fantastic beauty to the natural wildness of the spot.

"I'm sure I am dreaming," said Lord Canning, as he stood alone with Indiana on one of the rustic bridges, listening to the roar of the waters and watching the many-colored lights trembling on the moonlit falls. "Studying late into the night, I fell asleep in my library at home. Jennings will come in soon and poke the fire, and I shall awake--in England!"

At twelve they sat down to a large supper-table. Kitty, Flash, and the two guides were in attendance. Lord Canning related some interesting adventures, and Stillwater taxed his memory for humorous experiences, which met with the hearty appreciation of his guests, who were very susceptible to the dry wit of the American. Glen complied whenever he was asked to sing, between the stories, but otherwise he was distinctly out of tune with the prevailing high spirits. He had been wrought up to the highest pitch of jealousy, by the absence of Lord Canning and Indiana from the rest, before supper. The entire evening appealed to him more as a nightmare than a festivity.

"Friends," began Stillwater, in response to a toast from Lord Canning, "I'm in the best of health and spirits. My family are all around me"--he rested his hand on his wife's head--"I hope to keep them so, for many a long day. We can't reckon on the future, but to-night I'm a happy man!" He kissed his wife, whose eyes had filled with a quick rush of tears.

Indiana jumped up and threw herself upon his breast, with a very sure premonition that she would soon leave him.

"Our host again!" proposed Lord Stafford.

His nephew drank the toast, feeling a sense of guilt that he was destined so shortly to ruffle the calm sea of Stillwater's domestic horizon.

"My distinguished guests have announced their intention of returning to England"--holding Indiana against his breast. "May they find their dear ones well and happy, and Godspeed to them!"

"Godspeed to them!" echoed Glen. "And a quick leave-taking!" he thought grimly.

Mrs. Bunker's happy philosophy was colored for the moment with a tinge of pessimism. "What a blind game it is," she whispered to Lord Canning. "He may be wishing 'Godspeed' to the baby I laid in his arms. Look at Indiana, she hasn't raised her head."

"Well, Indiana," said Stillwater, "aren't you going to drink 'Godspeed' to them?" He held the glass to her lips, raising her head from his breast. Their eyes were all upon her,--Lord Canning's tenderly anxious, his uncle's laughing, Mrs. Bunker's significant, and Glen's suspicious and jealous.

"Godspeed to them!" she repeated, gaily raising her glass.

When they finally arose from supper, Glen immediately disappeared. "I must get away from that awful white light," he thought, walking restlessly through the dark woods. "It's beating on my brain and driving me mad." His soul foreboded very truly that Indiana was lost to him. The soul is our Cassandra. It mourns and prophecies, while the heart is forever holding a carnival. A young girl decking herself with flowers for a fete. There is a shrouded form behind her in the mirror. It whispers, "Those flowers are blossoms of death. The fete for which you are robing, is a funeral." But, unhearing, unseeing, thinking of lovers and dancing, she decks herself in the mirror, a song on her lips.

Scarcely knowing where his feet were leading him, he found himself on the bridge directly over the falls. "She never notices me--I don't exist for her!" He looked down into the falls. "Living's only a fever after all--a mad fever of longing and jealousy. I'd gladly end it, down there--if it wasn't for the folks. Ambition! glory! I'd fling them all to the winds for the choice of pressing her little yellow head to my heart, just once, to still this horrible throbbing! If I had been brought home wounded and dying, she'd have sobbed beside me, and I'd have comforted her in my weak arms. Then she might have said, 'I love you, Glen dear!' just to make me happy--before the end. I would have fallen peacefully asleep then, blessing her. A happy death, to have died for my country, holding her to my breast, as my life bled away. Better than this--this fever called 'living'."

A hand was laid on his shoulder. "We're going home, my boy."

"Oh, I'm sorry"--he pressed his hand to his forehead--"I'm sorry that you were obliged to look for me."

Stillwater scrutinized Glen's set, white face. "The Englishmen are going. Things will come your way--soon."

"They'll never come my way," sighed Glen, "except, perhaps, when I've ceased to care."

"Nonsense!"

"It seems to me that nothing is worth what I've been suffering--not even Indiana."

"She isn't," assured Stillwater, unhesitatingly, delighted at this conclusion. "Turn over a new leaf. Show her you're indifferent. She'll think all the more of you."

Lord Stafford was patting the ponies, while Haller arranged the harness.

"If you'll be kind enough to jump in, Lord Stafford," cried Mrs. Bunker, "we may reach home in time for breakfast! Come now, Haller, you've been fumbling long enough with that harness!"

Haller grinned at Lord Stafford. "That woman's full of life," he remarked, "I admire her."

"The devil you do!" exclaimed Lord Stafford.

As they started they all sung "On the Banks of the Wabash."

The moon was fading when they embarked on 'The Indiana.'

"The lake presents an unearthly appearance in this silver twilight," remarked Lord Canning. "It is vanishing quickly. There's still a parting gleam touching the dark pines here and there--lingering like the last caress of a dying hand. Everything is becoming vague. The world is fading away from us. How fascinating--these last few moments before the dawn. Ah, it is breaking! That suggestion of dark shore--this pale light on the black lake. Why, we are on the River Styx. Haller doesn't look unlike Charon. I can see you dimly, Miss Stillwater--a little ghost in your white cloak. We are all ghosts." He lowered his voice. "I am positive that Mr. Masters sitting there, with his mandolin, could not present a more tragic figure if his eternal punishment were to play for the amusement of all the shades crossing to Hades!"

Indiana laughed. Glen bit his lips savagely. It sounded to him like the mocking laugh he had heard in his dreams, on the farm in the West, that miserable week when he had exiled himself.

The morning mists floated above them, growing denser. The clouds reflecting in the glassy lake, exposed only a fringe of red foliage. Gradually the mists were tinged with a faint opaline glow, deepening gradually. The sun rose as they neared Camp Indiana.

*CHAPTER XII.*

*Leading to the Altar.*

Glen did not renounce his original intention of climbing White Face mountains. He slept for two hours, breakfasted, and started for White Face trail at ten o'clock. There was no one stirring at the camp. When he returned it was four in the afternoon. He found Indiana lying in the hammock on the balcony, Lord Canning, seated beside her, reading poetry aloud.

Glen threw himself into a chair. "I'm pretty well used up!"

"I should think so," said Indiana, "climbing White Face after being up all night! I'll order some tea for you, and then you'd better go to bed."

She sprang from the hammock and disappeared, returning again in a moment.

"Thank you, Indiana. I'm glad I went. It was magnificent! The view as clear as possible, and snow on the summit!"

"I thought we might see you and Haller from the lake, but I couldn't get Lord Canning away from the camp to-day. He was so lazy."

Lord Canning smiled. He had his own reasons for staying home, having resolved not to let the day pass without speaking to his host of the subject of Indiana. So far there had been no opportunity. The family did not appear until lunch-time, and ever since, Stillwater had been closeted, writing business letters.

Though excessively fatigued, Glen felt immeasurably better for climbing White Face. The physical tax had cleared his brain. He had been exhilarated by the cold, rare air on the summit. He drank his tea with a pleasurable sense of lassitude, and, his eyes fixed on Indiana swinging in the hammock, replied rather absently to Lord Canning's questions regarding the ascent.

Lord Canning rose, closing his Tennyson. "I think I'll stroll down to the lake, Miss Stillwater, if you don't mind." He smiled at Glen, with a feeling of generosity.

Indiana looked after him thoughtfully as he strolled down through the trees.

"He's a thorough gentleman--so unobtrusive. He never asks prying questions--and he's never in the way."

"Too slow for me," replied Glen, watching her narrowly. "But I suppose you must have someone to flirt with."

Indiana swung slowly. "Perhaps--I'm in earnest--this time!"

Glen rose and grasped her wrist tightly. "Don't say that, Indy! While you're single I shall never give up hope. Now, what's in the way? I'm not your inferior in education. Do you know any handsomer fellow than I?"--with a grim affectation of humor. "If it's for money--I have all you'll ever want."

"I must marry a man of the world. I want to live in the world. We're both undeveloped--I'm not a woman yet, nor you a man."

"I don't consider I'm not a man," said Glen scornfully, "until I have conquered no end of women, and have their broken hearts for trophies, like an Indian with a string of scalps. I love one woman, and if she won't have me--well, I'll not give up until I see her tied pretty tightly to another man."

"I'm not worth it, Glen." She caught his arm, gazing earnestly up into his face, "I'm not worth all your devotion."

"I know you have faults enough, but, God help me, I love you all the better for them."

"Everybody loves my faults," said Indiana, impatiently. "That's the trouble with me. If I could only find some one who would hate them and try to cure them."

"I couldn't be harsh to you, Indy. If you killed me, I'd die blessing you. You nearly did for me once--"

"What!"

"Oh, it wasn't your fault--you were too young to know better."

Indiana sprang from the hammock. "Glen, what wasn't my fault?" she demanded, fiercely. "What did I do? You shall tell me!"

"All right. But don't get in a temper. I swore I'd never throw it up to you."

"Don't tease me, Glen," said Indiana, imploringly, "tell me--quickly."

Glen pushed his hair back from his right temple. "Do you see that?"

"Yes," uttered Indiana, in a frightened voice, "a deep, white scar."

"You did that." She recoiled, looking at it in horror. "You threw a pair of scissors at me--in one of your tantrums."

"Oh, no, no, no!"

"You were too young to remember, and they took you away so that the sight of the blood shouldn't frighten you."

"Oh, Glen!" cried Indiana, "how could I? And you're always so good--you never even hated me for it. Oh, Glen!" She took his head in her hands and kissed the scar impulsively. "Forgive me--forgive me!"

"Indiana, is there a chance for me?"

"No."

"You're not going to marry that Englishman?" he said, fiercely.

"He hasn't asked me."

"Would you?"

"I don't know, Glen. Promise me you won't say anything to him about that," pointing to the scar.

"I've never thought of it myself," said Glen, sadly, "since then. I'm sorry I told you if--"

"Thank you for telling me. I'm glad I know. It hurts me, though--right here." She put her hand to her heart.

"Indiana!"

"Now I'm blue, but I'll get over it. To think I could hurt you, or anybody, like that."

"Oh, Indy, don't think about it. This scar is healed--long ago. You've hurt me here, far worse than that." He took her hand and pressed it to his heart. "There's a wound here it'll take many a long day to heal."

"Oh, Glen! Oh, Glen!" she moaned, piteously, trying to wrest her hand away. But he held it tightly over his heart.

"I don't know what you want--I don't believe you know yourself--I don't believe you realize what you're doing--you're too young to know. You're throwing away a rare, pure love, Indiana, as though it were a soiled ribbon. I'm not a man of the world, but I know what that means in life--you don't. It's all that counts in the long run. I don't say another man couldn't love you, but no one will ever love you better--remember that, won't you? And that mine is not a love which has sprung up suddenly--it has taken deep roots in my life."

"It's horrible to think I could hurt anyone like that," repeated Indiana, mechanically, looking at the scar on his forehead.

"That's the least. Think of the wound here," he repeated. "You could heal it, Indiana." He opened his arms. He might have won her by his very insistence, if it were not that the idea of another--a different life from what she had known--had shed its glamour upon her, the glamour of the new and strange. She would not trust herself to look at his dark, quivering face, but turned away and mounted the stairs, slowly, to her room, seeing him very clearly as she went, standing with his arms extended.

Later, Mrs. Stillwater found Glen sitting alone on the balcony, looking vacantly on the lake. He did not notice her, until she went up to him, putting her arm about his neck.

"What's the matter, Glen?"

"Indy won't have me--"

"You've asked her, then?"

Glen nodded.

"I'm so sorry, so sorry." She smoothed his hair gently. "I've always hoped it would be--some day."

"I haven't given--up--hope--yet," he said, doggedly.

She kept smoothing his hair, until Lord Canning joined them. Then Glen rose abruptly and went up to his room.

"Our young hero seems depressed," said Lord Canning, quietly.

"It's about Indiana," replied Mrs. Stillwater, very much distressed.

"He's a fine fellow, but, if you'll pardon me for saying so, Mrs. Stillwater, he's not the right husband for your daughter."

"He understands her better than a stranger would. He'd get along with her, I'm sure."

"Is it so difficult to get along with her?" enquired Lord Canning.

"Oh, I didn't mean that," replied Mrs. Stillwater, quickly. "There's no one more lovable and easy, if she's studied."

"What do you think of me as a husband for your daughter?" said Lord Canning, quietly.

"Lord Canning, you're not in earnest?"

"Why not? I should like to take my place in the matrimonial competition, if you have no objection."

She looked at him, standing there with such apparent composure. "What objection could I have to a man like you? But, I'm not the one to be consulted. Whatever Indy decides, I must be satisfied with. Oh, dear! Oh, dear!"

"Mrs. Stillwater, the idea is evidently disagreeable to you?"

"Oh no, not at all. But Indiana's so young, and you live so far away--and she is so unfit to be alone--without us. But don't consider me--I have nothing whatever to say."

"I had a pressing correspondence to-day, Lord Canning," said Stillwater, emerging upon the balcony. His wife put her hand on his shoulder.

"Father! Father!"

"Well, mother, what is it?"

"Lord Canning wants to marry Indy?"

"Does he?" asked Stillwater, composedly. "Too bad--too bad."

His wife sighed heavily, and was on the point of leaving them, when Lord Canning took her hand, looking sympathetically into her eyes. "Why not stay and help me out?"

"Oh, I really must go--Indy's waiting for me. I never let anyone do anything for her. I always lay out her dresses, and brush her hair, and wait on her. She gets cross if I don't--and I love to do it."

"You don't approve of me, Mrs. Stillwater?"

"I do," she answered, tremulously. "I like you very much--you're such a nice, modest man for your position. Will you--" she hesitated, he still held her hand, looking inquiringly into her eyes, "will you wait a while and think it over before you ask Indy?"