Lyndsay had just come in when he saw the glow of the fire over the hilltop. He was curious and a little anxious. Wood-fires are of all things what men dread the most, when once they have been face to face with their terrors. He called his men again, and ordered them to take him up the river. Rose, who had been with him on the pool, asked at once to go with him.

He said, “I see no objection. Get a wrap and make haste.”

Thus it chanced that in a few moments they were poling up the stream with more than usual speed.

“Halloa!” cried Lyndsay, as a dugout shot by them in the darkness. “What’s wrong up above?”

There was no reply.

“Isn’t that queer?” said Rose. “How uncivil!”

“Very.”

At the landing they went ashore, and pushed on to see what was the source of the blaze.

Presently Lyndsay halted, noticing the sparks about him. “There is no wind, Michelle.”

“No, sir; and the woods are soaking wet. I’ve a notion it’s Colkett’s.”

387“Best to see. I will wait at the boat. I don’t want to run any risk with Miss Lyndsay.” But at this moment he heard Jack’s challenge, and so all the threads of my story are spun together.

As they ran down-stream, Lyndsay was a little uneasy concerning what might be his wife’s judgment as to his course in regard to Carington; but he had felt very deeply the obligation under which the young man had placed them, and he was clear enough that there had been really nothing else to do. Nevertheless, he was shrewd as to the domestic management of the matter. At the landing he said to Rose:

“Wait a moment, you and Jack,” and then ran up the steps and into the house.

By this time Rose was in full command of herself, and able, as her father left them, to speak tranquilly enough to the wounded man.

“Yes, he was in some pain; but, to judge from his own feelings, the trouble could not be grave.”

Then she asked, quite naturally, if Mr. Ellett had been told, and learning that he had not, sent Jack to find Polycarp, that he might take a note to the Island. When Jack came back with the Indian, Rose said:

“I must see papa about the note for Mr. Ellett. Ah, here he comes.” She did not wait to complete this business, but turned to the canoe where Carington still lay, and said:

“Good night, and good-by, too, for a few days. Mama will keep you well caged. You may rest assured of that!”

388In the very dim light she saw him put out the hand nearest to her. She took it, felt the lingering grasp, already fever-hot, that would have delayed the moment’s soft prisoner, but dared not. She said again:

“Good night. Here is papa,” and moved away, at first slowly, and then quickly.

When Mr. Lyndsay entered the cabin his wife looked up.

“What is it, Archie?”

“Don’t be alarmed, Margaret. Mr. Carington has been shot—badly wounded.”

“Not by Jack!” cried the mother.

“Oh, no! No. It’s a queer story. I have not heard it fully. He bled a good deal, and—”

“Do you think him in danger, Archie?”

“It is hard to say, especially so soon.”

“Surely you did not leave him at their camp?” said Margaret.

“No. He is in my canoe on the beach.”

“Good gracious! Is he?”

Anne smiled, as she would have said, inside of her, and reflected upon the wisdom her brother had displayed, for at once Margaret, easily captured by appeals to her pity, was afoot, and, for the time, intent alone upon what was best to be done.

“I would send Tom to Mackenzie for a doctor, and he must stay. I think, Archie, you will have to give Mr. Carington your room and take to a tent.” Then she went off to set the room in order, while Lyndsay returned to the beach, still a little anxious, but also a little amused.

389Rose had gone.

By and by the guides carried the wounded man up into the neat chamber, where Lyndsay helped him to bed, and was easily able to ascertain that the ball had crossed the chest beneath the skin, passed over the left shoulder, and out again—a severe flesh-wound.

“It does not bleed,” said Lyndsay, “and I think there is no very serious hurt. Can you move your arm?”

“Yes,—with pain.”

“Then the joint is safe. I have known fellows brevetted for things no worse.”

“But my puzzle is, why what is only a flesh-wound should have made me drop as if I were dead. I cannot understand it.”

“The doctors call it ’shock,’” said his host. “At times it affects the head, and a man hit in the foot or arm goes crazy for a time, or else it stops the heart, and he faints.”

“That was it, I suppose.”

As they talked Lyndsay put on a wet compress, and, with the skill learned long since, where bullets were many and bigger, he made his patient reasonably comfortable, and left him at last under Mrs. Lyndsay’s despotic care.

In the mean time, Anne, anxious to know more, had looked for Jack. At ease concerning Carington, he was off somewhere, busy about the preservation of his precious bearskin, and Rose, too, had disappeared. Anne felt that she must wait, and, as usual, went to her room, to rest a little before their 390retarded dinner. She opened the door, and instantly went in and shut it. Rose was lying on the bed, trying hard to suppress her sobs, knowing well that she would be but too easily heard.

“Dear child, what is it?” said Anne.

“I don’t know. Oh, do, please, let me alone!”

“But I must know. It is so unlike you. Mr. Carington is in no danger.”

“I know. I don’t care whether he is in danger or not. I do care! It isn’t he! It’s—it’s me—it’s I. I can’t tell. I am ashamed. Are all women this way? Oh, I hate to be such a fool!”

Anne sat down. “I don’t quite understand, dear; but, no matter. What is clear is that you are going to have hysterics.”

“I am not going to have hysterics.”

“Then keep quiet, and don’t talk.”

“You made me talk!”

“I did. I am an ass.”

“No—no! Kiss me, aunty. I am so miserable! Couldn’t I get to bed quietly?”

“Yes. Your mother is busy. Come.” And thus, when at last dinner was on the table, and Mrs. Lyndsay asked for her daughter, she was told that Rose had a headache, and then, when she got up to go to her, that she was asleep, which may or may not have been true.

At dinner, between what Carington had told Lyndsay and Jack’s very clear statement, the story came out plainly enough. The boy was praised to his heart’s content, and when Anne had said that this was courage in the right place, and Carington refused to 391sleep until he had thanked him, Jack felt that, including the bearskin as a part of the day’s blessings, life had no more to give. As for Dick, he settled the genus and the species of the bear, and Ned sat in a corner and meditated, seeing the whole day’s events in pictures, with curious dramatic clearness.

Next morning the doctor arrived, and further reassured them. Mr. Carington was in for a day or two in bed, and then might be out in the hammock.

Of course Ellett had been informed the night before, and had come down at once. When again, next day, he returned, there was a long consultation, and it was decided that the patient was so well that Ellett might move down and take care of him, that the doctor would come back and stay a few days, and that Mr. Lyndsay and his family might go away on Sunday night. To this plan Mrs. Lyndsay somewhat eagerly assented, for reasons of which she said nothing, an unusual course for the little lady.

Thus, on Friday and Saturday, what with fishing and packing, every one was busy.

“Preliminaries are the bane of existence,” said Anne, “but postliminaries are worse”; and thereupon she asked Ned if that word was in “Worcester,” and declared for a dictionary of her own making.

Mrs. Lyndsay had no opinion of Anne’s capacities in any practical direction, and declined for a day her help in the care of Mr. Carington. But now she was over-busy, and thus it chanced on the next morning, being Saturday, that she asked Anne to look after their wounded guest. They had purposely brought no maids with them, and, even with all of Rose’s help, 392Anne had been obliged to assist in packing, for, as concerned her books, she was as old-maidish and precise as are some other of her corps about what Anne regarded as quite unimportant properties. To escape, at last, out of the bustle of packing, and to find some one to talk to or be talked to, was entirely to her taste.

“Certainly, Margaret,” she said.

“And do not let him talk.”

“No.”

“And do not talk to him, dear.”

“Of course not.”

“There is nothing so fatiguing.”

“No. That is quite the case.”

“And be careful about drafts.”

“Yes. Is that all?”

“I think so,” returned Mrs. Lyndsay, doubtfully, and then went before Anne into Carington’s room.

“I have brought you a new nurse. My sister-in-law will look after you this morning. You must not let her talk to you.” And having thus doubly provided against the deadly malaria of conversation, she went out as Anne sat down.

Carington liked the maiden lady, with her neat dress and erect carriage, which no suffering had taught the stoop of the invalid; moreover, her unusualness pleased him. Her talk, too, was out of the common, and full of enterprise. What she used of the learning or sentiment of others seemed also to acquire a new personal flavor. Mrs. Westerly had once said, “When Miss Anne quotes Shakspere, it loses the quality of mere quotation. She can’t say anything like the rest of us.”

393As she sat down, she said demurely, “I am not to talk to you. Let us gossip: that is not talk.”

“Oh, no,” he said, joyously. “I am just about in a state for mere chat, which involves no thinking. Mrs. Lyndsay has been severe.”

“I have to fight her a little myself, dear, good, obstinate creature as she is. I suppose she did not talk to you at all,—not a word, I presume?”

“I decline, Miss Anne, to betray the weaknesses of my nurses.”

“That is well. Negations often answer questions quite sufficiently in the affirmative. I know she did talk to you, and about that miserable tombstone. She cannot help it, poor mother!”

“Yes. I thought it pitiable. She seemed unable to escape from it.”

“It is like her; but it is not wise. Margaret is persistent always. Her likes and dislikes are changeless. She is ob............