Aynsley, sitting near an open window in his office, laid down his pen and looked out with a sense of satisfaction. A great raft of lumber¹ was ready to start down the river, and men were scrambling² about it loosing the mooring-chains. The pond was full of logs lately run down on a freshet, and the green flood swirled³ noisily past them. Its color indicated that the snow was melting fast on the lofty inland ranges, and sweet resinous⁴ scents⁵ rose from the stacks of cedar⁶ where the sunshine struck hot upon them. A cloud of smoke streamed across the long sheds and streaked⁷ the pines behind the mill with a dingy⁸ smear⁹; and the scream of saws and the crash of flung-out boards filled the clearing. All this suggested profitable activity; and Aynsley’s satisfaction deepened as he glanced at some letters which a clerk handed him. They contained orders, and he foresaw that he would soon have to increase the capacity of the mill. He was thinking over a scheme for doing so when his father was shown in. Clay smiled at his surprise, and sat down in the nearest chair, breathing heavily.  
“Why don’t you locate on the ground-floor instead of making people walk up those blamed awkward steps?” he asked.
 
“I can see better from here what’s going on,” Aynsley explained. “I find it saves me a little money now and then.”
 
Clay beamed upon him.
 
“There was a time when I didn’t expect to hear you talk like that. However, you have a pretty good mill-boss and secretary, haven’t you? Do you think you could leave them to look after matters for a little while?”
 
“I suppose I could,” Aynsley answered dubiously¹⁰. “They know more about the business than I do; but, for all that, I’d rather be on the spot. Things seem to go wrong unless you look closely after them.”
 
“They do; you’re learning fast, my son. It looks as if the mill is getting hold of you.”
 
Aynsley took a plan of some buildings from a drawer.
 
“What do you think of this?” he asked. “We could keep the new saws busy, but the job would cost about twenty thousand dollars. Could you let me have the money, or shall I go to the bank?”
 
Clay inspected the plan carefully.
 
“It’s a good scheme,” he declared. “If trade keeps steady, you’ll soon get the cost back. I could lend you the money easily but perhaps you’d better try the bank. You’ve got to stand by yourself sooner or later; and it seems to me that you’re getting pretty steady on your feet. Guess you’re not sorry now I made you work?”
 
Aynsley pondered the question. In some respects the business was not to his taste, but in spite of this it was rapidly engrossing¹¹ his attention. There was a fascination¹² in directing, planning for the future, and bringing about results.
 
“No,” he said. “In fact, I’m getting a good deal more satisfaction out of it than I expected.”
 
“That should help you in another matter. You won’t take your not getting Osborne’s girl quite so hard.”
 
For a few moments Aynsley sat still with knitted brows. It was his habit to be honest with himself, and he saw that to some extent his father was right. He thought of Ruth with deep tenderness and regret, and he believed that he would always do so, but the poignant¹³ sense of loss which he had at first experienced had gone. He did not think that he was fickle¹⁴ or disloyal to her, but his new interests had somehow dulled the keenness of his pain.
 
“I suppose that’s true,” he answered quietly.
 
“Your real trouble will begin when you see her getting fond of another man. What are you going to do about it then?”
 
Aynsley winced¹⁵.
 
“It’s rather hard to speak about, but, if the fellow’s fit for her, I’ll try to bear it and wish them well.”
 
“You’ll make good,” Clay commented with dry approval. “But I’ve been getting off the track. You have been sticking to your work pretty closely, and, as things are going, you can leave it without much risk. I want you to take me North for a few weeks in the yacht. The doctor recommends the trip.”
 
It struck Aynsley that his father was not looking well. He had lost his high color, his face had grown pouchy¹⁶ under the eyes, and he had a strained, nervous look. Aynsley had some business on hand which demanded his personal attention, but he recognized his duty to his father. Then, the North had its fascination, and the thought of another grapple with gray seas, smothering¹⁷ fog, and biting gales¹⁸ appealed to him.
 
“Very well,” he said. “When do you want to go?”
 
“As soon as we can get away. Next week, if possible. You had better tell the captain to get his crew and coal on board.”
 
Aynsley called his secretary, and when Clay left he had arranged to meet him at Victoria in a fortnight.
 
The time was, however, extended; for on getting the yacht ready for sea some repairs to rigging and engines were found needful, and these took longer than the skipper expected. At last Clay received word that they would be finished in a few days, and he paid a visit to Osborne. Reaching the house in the evening, he sat talking with his host in the library after dinner. A shaded lamp stood on a table laid out with wine and cigars, but this was the only light and beyond its circle of illumination the large room was shadowy. The floor was of polished wood, but a fine rug stretched from near the table to the door, where heavy portières hung. The men spoke¹⁹ in quiet, confidential²⁰ voices as they smoked.
 
“The Farquhar gang have separated, and I’ve lost track of them, but if they can scrape up three or four hundred dollars between them I’ll be surprised,” Clay said. “They’re going to have some trouble in fitting out their boat; and she’s a very small thing, anyway. Though the delay has worried me, we should get up there long before they do, and we only need a few days of fine weather to finish the job.”
 
“There’s some risk in your taking the diver and Aynsley,” Osborne cautioned. “You may have some difficulty in keeping both in the dark.”
 
“It oughtn’t to be hard. I take the owner’s berth²¹ with the small sitting-room²² attached, and everything we bring up will go straight in there—and I’ll keep the key. The diver’s business ends when he puts the stuff on deck, and after it’s stowed nobody will touch it but myself.”
 
“Aynsley may want to see it, and ask questions.”
 
“Then he won’t be gratified. I have him pretty well drilled, and he knows when to stop. Besides, I’ll find him useful. When anything needs talking over, I’ll have him to consult with instead of a paid man. The skipper’s more of a sailing-master. Aynsley takes command.”
 
“Still, you can’t keep everything from him,” Osborne persisted. “It seems to me there are too many people who must, to some extent, be taken into your confidence. That’s where Farquhar has the advantage. He has only two partners, whom he can rely upon.”
 
“Shucks! You get to imagining trouble! Some of the gold is there all right, and, if it’s needful, I can make a show with that. For all that, I’d like a companion who knew as much as I did, and I feel a bit sore because I have to go without. It’s your place to see me through, but you’ve got so blamed fastidious lately.”
 
“I’m not going,” Osborne answered softly, for Clay had raised his voice. “I’............