“So far as we know,” said Alice, “it was the custom to honor one lady, always.  The Border chiefs were rude, but they had their virtues, and there are some pretty stories of their constancy.”

Foster imagined he saw a faint sparkle in her eyes.  He would have liked to think she resented his having gone to Newcastle on Carmen’s behalf, but doubted this.  After a pause she resumed: 

“People say we are decadent and getting slack with luxury, but one likes to think the spirit of the race survives all changed conditions and can’t be destroyed.  There is a colliery not very far off where the water broke in some years ago.  The men in the deep workings were cut off, but the few who escaped went back into the pit—­and never came up.  They knew the thing was impossible, their leaders frankly told them so, but they would not be denied.  Well, the colliery was not reopened, the shaft-head towers are falling down, but there’s a granite fountain on the moor that will stand for ages to record the splendid sacrifice.”

“They had all to lose,” said Foster.  “One must admire, without hoping to emulate, a deed like that.”

Alice changed the subject rather abruptly.  “What you have told me is puzzling.  I can’t see why the police followed you, and there’s something mysterious about the packet.  It all seems connected with Lawrence’s affairs, and yet I can’t see how.  I suppose you have no explanation?”

“Not yet.  I feel there’s something going on in which I may by and by take a part.  The clews break off, but I may find one that’s stronger, and then——­”

He stopped, but Alice gave him an understanding glance.  “Then you would follow the clew, even if it led you into some danger, for Lawrence’s sake?”

“I’d try,” said Foster, with a flush that gave him a curiously ingenuous look.  “As I’ve no particular talent for that kind of thing, I mightn’t do much good, but you have accused me of being romantic and I’ve owned that I am rash.”

Alice smiled.  “You’re certainly modest; but there’s a rashness that is much the same as generosity.”

Then Featherstone came in and after a time took Foster to the library, where he gave him a cigarette.

“It’s strange we haven’t heard from Lawrence yet,” he said in a disturbed voice.  “He hasn’t given the Canadian post office his new address, because here’s a letter they have sent on.”

“From Hulton, who seems to be in Toronto,” said Foster, picking up the envelope.  “As I’m a partner, I’ll open it.”

He did so and gave Featherstone the letter, which inquired if they could supply some lumber the company needed.

“I’m sorry we can’t do the work, because we won’t be back in time.  It would have been an interesting job to cut the stuff in the way Hulton wants.”

“He seems to leave a good deal to your judgment and to have no doubt about your sending him the right material.”