It was very clear to Tisdale that though she saw the property had so greatly increased in value, and that the reclamation movement in the outer vale made the tract readily salable, she no longer considered placing it on the market.  “I thought Banks showed you a way easily to cancel that loan,” he began.  But meeting her look, he paused; his glance returned to the window while he felt in his pocket for that deed Foster had refused to bring.  It was going to be more difficult than he had foreseen to offer it to her.  “Madam,” and compelling his eyes to brave hers, he slightly frowned, “your share in the Aurora mine should pay you enough in dividends the next season or two to refund all that has been expended on this project.”

“My share in the Aurora mine?” she repeated.  “But I see, I see.  You have been maligned into giving me the interest David conveyed to you.  Oh, Mr. Banks told me about that.  How you were attacked at the trial; the use that was made of that Indian story in the magazine; that monstrous editorial note.”

Tisdale smiled.  “That had nothing to do with it.  This deed was drawn last year as soon as I reached Washington.  David knew the value of the Aurora.  That is the reason he risked another winter there, in the face of—­all—­ that threatened him.  And when he felt the fight was going against him, he turned his interest over to me, not only as security on the small loan I advanced to him, but because I was his partner, and he could trust me to finish, his development work and put the mine on a paying basis.  That is accomplished.  There is no reason now that I should not transfer his share back to you.”

He rose to give her the deed, and she took it with reluctance and glanced it over.  “I think it is arranged about as David would have wished,” he added.  “He had confidence in Foster.”

She looked up.  “Mr. Foster knows how I regard the matter.  I told him I would not accept an interest in the Aurora mine.  I said all the gold in Alaska could not compensate you for—­what you did.  Besides, I do not believe as you do, Mr. Tisdale.  I think David meant his share should be finally yours.”

Hollis was silent.  He stood looking off again over Cerberus to the loftier Chelan peaks.  For a moment she sat regarding his broad back; her lip trembled a little, and a tenderness, welling from depths of compassion, brimmed her eyes.  “You see I cannot possibly accept it,” she said, and rose to return the deed to him.

She had forgotten the photograph, which dropped from her lap, and Tisdale stooped to pick it up.  It was lying face upward on the floor, and he saw it was the picture of a child; then involuntarily he stopped to scan it, and it came over him this small face, so beautifully molded, so full of intelligence and charm, was a reproduction of Weatherbee in miniature; yet retouched by a blend of the mother; her eyes under David’s level brows.  He put the picture in her hand and an unspoken question flashed in the look that met hers.