Kit lighted a maize-leaf cigarette and mused.  He had been startled, but his nerve was good and he knew something about the dark-skinned, reckless people of the South.  They were robbed by their rulers, who spent the most part of the revenue to keep themselves in power; and sometimes, when the vote was useless, assassination seemed the only remedy.  But it was on his uncle’s promise Kit’s thoughts dwelt.  Although Adam was rich, the sum Alvarez needed was large.  The latter was honest, in a sense, and Kit thought would not rob his friend, but he might be unable to make repayment.  In fact, he had warned Adam that there was a risk and the bullet that struck the pillar was a significant hint.  The venture looked rash, but Adam had stated that it was not a business proposition.  He and the president were friends and this counted for much.  The old Buccaneer had a sentimental vein.

Then Kit’s thoughts strayed and he wondered what Peter was doing in the north country dale.  Kit had prospered since he joined Adam and the latter had hinted that he might be rich, but he was tired of intrigue and excitement and the glare of the South.  He wanted the bracing winds, and the soft lights that chased the flying shadows across the English hills.  He smiled as he reflected that he was like the Herdwicks that never forgot their native heaf; but while he longed for the red moors and straight-cut valleys he felt a stronger call.  He was young and had seen the daughters of the South; Louisiana Creoles with a touch of old French grace; dark-haired Habaneras with languid eyes, whose movements were a delight to watch; octoroons ready to welcome a lover who was altogether white, and half-breed Indian girls.  All had charm and some had shown him favors that meant much, but their charm had left Kit cold.

He thought about Grace Osborn, steady-eyed and marked by English calm.  She was frank and sometimes impulsive, but even then one got a hint of proud reserve.  There was no touch of southern coquetry about Grace, she was not the girl to attract a lover and let him go, but if he came and proved his worth, she would go forward with him steadfastly through the storms of life.  Kit sighed and pulled himself up.  Grace was not for him and he must not be a romantic fool.  He looked round and saw that Adam was quietly studying him.

“What are you thinking about, partner?” he asked and Kit knew the epithet meant much.  Adam had not called him partner at first.

“I was thinking about Ashness,” he replied.

“Ah,” said Adam softly, “I often think about it too; the old house among the ash trees, and the Herdwicks feeding on the long slope behind.  The red heath on the fell-top and the beck bubbling in the ghyll.  Everything’s clean and cool in the quiet dale, and the folk are calm and Slow.”  He paused and resumed with a curious smile:  “Once I reckoned I’d go back when I got rich and make things hum, but when I had the money I saw that plan wouldn’t work.  Those quiet folk would have beaten me with their unchanging ways, and Ashness is too good to spoil.  For all that, I allowed I’d see it again before I died, but now I don’t know.”