“Well,” he said thoughtfully, “the Laurentian rocks are very old, and our miners have so far dealt with newer formations.  On the whole, I think it possible that ore like this has been forced up from unusual depths.”

“But would the silver be easily refined?”

He smiled.  “There would be no trouble about its reduction.  If you can locate the vein, you will be rich.”

Agatha thanked him and went out, feeling somewhat comforted.  She had given up much, but she saw a ray of light in the gloom ahead.  The way she had chosen was difficult, but after all it was the right way, and, if she were resolute, might lead to success.  Then she remembered with a strange satisfaction that for a time she need not walk alone:  Thirlwell would be her guide when she plunged into the trackless wilds and she knew that one could trust him.

CHAPTER XX

THE PLUNGE

Supper was over at the Farnam homestead and Agatha enjoyed the cool of the evening on the veranda with her hosts and George.  The school had closed for the holidays, and George had arrived as the meal from which they had just got up was served.  Although he had not stated his object yet, Agatha knew why he had come and shrank from the vigorous protest she expected him to make.  In the meantime, she had something else to think about and listened for the noise of wheels.

Farnam’s hired man had driven across to the settlement in the afternoon and she wondered, rather anxiously, whether he would bring her a telegram.  She had written to Thirlwell, telling him when she would be ready to begin her search for the ore, and now waited his reply.  Her letter might take some time to reach him, and she must allow for his messenger’s journey to the railroad from the mine; but she knew she would feel restless until the answer came.

The evening was calm, the air was fresher than in the city, and she found the quiet soothing.  A field of timothy grass near the house rippled languidly, the dark heads rising stiffly upright when the faint breeze dropped.  Sometimes there was a movement among the tall blades and feathery plumes of the Indian corn, and then the rustle stopped and everything was still.  Beyond the zig-zag fence, the fruit trees ran back in rows that converged and melted into a blurred mass at the edge of the bush.  The narrow landscape had no prominent feature.  It was smooth and calm, and Agatha found it rested her eyes and brain.  She wanted to be tranquil, but must shortly rouse herself when Mrs. Farnam and George began their joint attack.  George had an ominously determined look, and she knew Mabel would give him her support.

“Why didn’t you come and stop with us?  Florence expected you,” he said by and by.

Agatha saw he was feeling for an opening, and since it was hard to put him off, answered with a smile:  “You are a persistent fellow, and I’m not fond of argument.  I wanted to be quiet.”