CHAPTER X

THE UNDELIVERED MESSAGE

The afternoon was slipping by when, some time after the capture of the steer, Alice Deringham sat waiting for Alton under a big fir.  He had promised to take her out upon the lake, and the little breeze that stirred the cedars to drowsy music would, she knew, ripple the shining surface and render the capture of a big trout the less problematical.  The trout of British Columbia are also at least equal to those of England in their faculties of discrimination and observation, and during the listless autumn days Miss Deringham’s angling had not been especially successful.  Still, though she not infrequently returned with an empty basket, the girl apparently retained an enthusiasm for it she had not always displayed at home.

The lake she declared was beautiful, and this was beyond contravention, while even when no splash disturbed its mirror-like shining she found it pleasant to slide across its black depths in a light canoe.  She knew, and so did Alton, that under those conditions the silver and vermilion lure would have been quite as useful in the bottom of the craft, but the man usually seemed too content to lazily dip the paddle while the girl would lead him on to talk with judicious questions.  Alton could on occasion talk well, displaying a vigour and freshness of thought which at the commencement had slightly astonished his companion, who found a curious pleasure in sounding this and that depth of his nature.

As a rule, he responded readily, and she was conscious of the same sense of power that a master of the organ might feel as his fingers touched the stops and keys.  Alton had lived simply in close touch with nature, and though he had read much, his thoughts had something of the pristine purity and vigour of the land he dwelt in, and were in a fashion musical; but now and then the girl venturing overfar chanced upon a chord that rang harsh and discordant, and shrinking a little recognized, she fancied, the undertone of primitive barbarity.

On the afternoon in question she was, however, slightly angry with him.  He had fixed no special time, but she had waited some while, and Alice Deringham preferred that other people should wait for her.  She had also taken some pains with her toilet and though her attire was neat in place of ornate, its simplicity was the result of lavish expenditure and artistic selection.  To some extent, and so far as she could ascertain it, it was also in accordance with the taste of the man who was to accompany her.

It was very still.  Nobody moved in the clearing, though from beyond it rose the faint humming of saws, and the little breeze was heavy with a resinous fragrance.  The log-house was silent save for an occasional clatter from the kitchen, where Mrs. Margery was apparently busy.  Alice Deringham did not like Mrs. Margery, and had reason to believe the latter returned the feeling, though she had noticed that the somewhat grim old lady had a smile that was almost gentle for rancher Townshead’s daughter.  Presently the rattle of plates also ceased, and the girl found the silence exasperating.  The time was slipping by, and there was still no sign of Alton.