Tisdale did not say anything, but his rugged face worked a little, and he turned again to look out into the night.  Foster moved nearer the reading-lamp and unfolded the document.  It was a deed conveying, for a consideration of one dollar, a half interest in the Aurora mine to Beatriz Silva Gonzales Weatherbee; provided said half interest be not sold, or parceled, or in any way disposed of for a period of five years.  Her share of the profits above operating expenses was to be paid in semi-annual dividends, and, as in the will, Stuart Emory Foster was named as trustee.

Foster folded the document slowly.  His glance moved to Tisdale, and his eyes played every swift change from contrition to gratitude.  Hollis turned.  “I want you to take the management of the whole mine,” he said mellowly.  “At a salary of five thousand a year to start with.  And as soon as you wish, you may deliver this deed.”

Foster’s lips trembled a little.  “You’ve made a mistake,” he said unsteadily.  Then:  “Why don’t you take it to her yourself, Hollis?” he asked.

Tisdale was silent.  He turned back to the window, and after an interval, Foster went over and stood beside him, looking down on the harbor lights.  His arm went up around Tisdale’s shoulder as he said:  “If Weatherbee could know everything now; if he had loved her, put her first always, as you believe, do you think he would be any happier to see her punished like this?”

Still Tisdale was silent.  Then Foster’s arm fell, and he said desperately:  “Can’t you see, Hollis?  Weatherbee was greater than either of us, I grant that.  But the one thing in the world you are so sure he most desired—­the lack of which wrecked his life—­the one thing I have tried for the hardest and missed—­has fallen to you.  Go and ask her to sail to Alaska with you.  You’ll need her up there to carry the honors for you.  You prize her, you love her,—­you know you do.”

CHAPTER XXXIII

THE CALF-BOUND NOTEBOOK

The statue was great.  So Tisdale told Lucky Banks, that day the prospector met him at the station and they motored around through the park.  The sculptor himself had said he must send people to Weatherbee when they wanted to see his best work.  It was plain his subject had dominated him.  He had achieved with the freedom of pose the suggestion of decision and power that had been characteristic of David Weatherbee.  Quick intelligence spoke in the face, yet the eyes held their expression of seeing a far horizon.  To Hollis, coming suddenly, as he did, upon the bronze figure in the Wenatchee sunshine, it seemed to warm with a latent consciousness.  He felt poignantly a sense of David’s personality, as he had known him at the crowning period of his life.

“It suits me,” responded Banks.  “My, yes, it’s about as good a likeness as we can get of Dave.”  He put on his hat, which involuntarily he had removed, and started the car on around the curve.  “But it’s a mighty lot like you.  It crops out most in the eyes, seeing things off somewheres, clear out of sight, and the way you carry your size.  You was a team.”