Affairs were in this position when he sat one evening with his daughter on the verandah, glancing now and then down the valley.  It was very still and peaceful, and trails of white mist crept about the pines, while, though the paling light still lingered high up upon the snow, a crescent moon was growing into visibility against the steely blueness behind the eastern shoulder of a hill.  Deringham, however, was listening for the thud of hoofs, and wondering if the mounted man sent down to the settlement would bring any letters for him.  His daughter sat close by him, dreamily watching the darkness roll higher about the pines.  She had not as yet grown tired of Somasco, and found its owner an interesting study.  He was of a type that was new to her, and the girl of a somewhat inquiring disposition.

Presently she turned to her father.  “How long shall we stay here?” she said.

“I don’t know,” said Deringham.  “It depends upon the Canadian, and in the meanwhile I am picking up a good deal of useful information about the mineral resources of this country.  Alton of Somasco seems to be a somewhat intelligent man.”

“Yes,” said the girl thoughtfully.  “It is a little difficult to dislike him.”

“I,” said her father, smiling, “do not know that there is any great necessity, or notice signs of a marked endeavour on your part to do so.”

The girl glanced at him inquiringly.  “You mean?” said she.

“Nothing,” said Deringham.  “Only the Canadian is also a man.  Well, we shall be going on to Vancouver presently.”

The girl laughed a little.  “That is incontrovertible,” she said.  “Why not go on now?”

“There are reasons,” said Deringham somewhat gravely.  “For one thing I hope to be in a position shortly to make terms with him.”

“But Carnaby is his,” said the girl.

“Yes,” said Deringham, “unless he gives it up.”

His daughter appeared thoughtful.  “I scarcely think he will!”

Deringham laughed a little.  “It might be possible to find means of inducing him.”

Alice Deringham shook her head.  “From what I have seen of Mr. Alton, I fancy it would be difficult.”

“Well,” said Deringham dryly, “we shall see.”

He had scarcely spoken when a soft drumming sound came out of the stillness.  It grew steadily louder, was lost in the roar of the river, and rose more distinct again, while the girl, who realized that a man was riding up the valley, wondered with unusual curiosity what news he would bring.  She also grew impatient, for that staccato drumming seemed to jar upon the harmonies of the evening, and she walked to the balustrade when the sound swelled into a thudding beat of hoofs.  The man was crossing the oatfield at a gallop now.  Then the sound rose muffled out of the gloom of the orchard the trail ran through, and she felt curiously expectant when once more the rider swung out into the shadowy clearing.  She afterwards remembered the vague apprehension with which she watched and listened, for it seemed to her that some intangible peril was drawing nearer with the galloping horse.  A minute or two later Seaforth came into the verandah with a packet of letters in his hand.