What Magdalen Scott had said of Doctor Morton on his wedding-day was perfectly true—­he was a hard man.  Not cruel or unjust, but keen and hard.  He did no wrong to any one.  He could even be liberal and considerate in his dealings with those who could not wrong him; but he had neither forbearance nor mercy for those who defrauded him in any way whatever of his rights.  He was fond of his wife, being his wife, but if she had been poor he would never have thought of marrying her.  Her possessions were, plainly and honestly, of as much value to him as herself.  He would tolerate the loss of the one as soon as that of the other.  The farm at Beaver Creek was the only thing she had brought him which was not in a satisfactory state; it had cost him considerable thought during their short engagement, and being extremely prompt and business-like in his ideas, he had made up his mind that the land should be cleared at once of intruders, that the wood might be cut down during the winter, and cultivation begin with the following spring.  Having decided upon this, he was not a person to be turned from his plan by difficulties.  He thought both Mr. Latour and Mr. Bellairs had been remiss in their work of dealing with the squatters, and felt a sort of resentment against them for having taken such negligent care of his property.  He did not like at present to go so far as to take the case entirely out of his brother-in-law’s hands, but he had decided that it would be necessary himself to look after, and urge on, the proceedings which were being taken against Clarkson.

He determined, therefore, that the first time he could spare an hour or two from his profession, he would ride over alone to Beaver Creek, and see precisely the condition of the land, and what inroads had been made upon it by Clarkson and the Indians.  It was only a day or two later that he carried out his intention; and after a few early visits to patients, turned his horse’s head along the road which, following the general direction of the river bank, led towards Beaver Creek.  He rode tolerably fast for two or three miles, and then began to slacken his pace, and look round him with greater interest.  He was still some distance from the creek itself, but the land lay on this side of it, and he was curious to know the condition of the neighbouring farms.  He had not been very long resident in Cacouna, and was but little acquainted with the country in this direction, except where, here and there, he had paid professional visits.

But at last he arrived at what he knew by description must be his wife’s property, and his examination began in good earnest.  For the most part, however, there was nothing to examine except timber, and that of little value.  “Plenty of firewood,” was his only comment as he went on.  Beyond the belt of wood, however, he came upon a clear space bordering the creek, and strewed with decayed fish, fragments of old nets, and broken pieces of wood—­traces of the use to which the Indians were in the habit of putting it.  A small hut stood just in the shelter of the bush, but it was empty, and the whole place had the look of being not inhabited, but only visited occasionally for fishing.