od--a deference that flattered Isabel even while it annoyed
her with the sense of a barrier which she could not break down or
pass. She was the daughter of the richest man in Rexton and inclined
to give herself airs on that account, but Alan's gentle indifference
always brought home to her an unwelcome feeling of inferiority.

"You've been tiring yourself out again tramping that lake shore, I
suppose," said Mrs. Danby, who had kept house for three bachelor
ministers and consequently felt entitled to hector them in a somewhat
maternal fashion.

"Not tiring myself--resting and refreshing myself rather," smiled
Alan. "I was tired when I went out but now I feel like a strong man
rejoicing to run a race. By the way, Mrs. Danby, who lives in that
quaint old house away down at the very shore? I never knew of its
existence before."

Alan's "by the way" was not quite so indifferent as he tried to make
it. Isabel King, leaning back posingly among the cushions of the
lounge, sat quickly up as he asked his question.

"Dear me, you don't mean to say you've never heard of Captain
Anthony--Captain Anthony Oliver?" said Mrs. Danby. "He lives down
there at Four Winds, as they call it--he and his daughter and an old
cousin."

Isabel King bent forward, her brown eyes on Alan's face.

"Did you see Lynde Oliver?" she asked with suppressed eagerness.

Alan ignored the question--perhaps he did not hear it.

"Have they lived there long?" he asked.

"For eighteen years," said Mrs. Danby placidly. "It's funny you
haven't heard them mentioned. But people don't talk much about the
Captain now--he's an old story--and of course they never go anywhere,
not even to church. The Captain is a rank infidel and they say his
daughter is just as bad. To be sure, nobody knows much about her, but
it stands to reason that a girl who's had her bringing up must be odd,
to say no worse of her. It's not really her fault, I suppose--her
wicked old scalawag of a father is to blame for it. She's never
darkened a church or school door in her life and they say she's always
been a regular tomboy--running wild outdoors with dogs, and fishing
and shooting like a man. Nobody ever goes there--the Captain doesn't
want visitors. He must have done something dreadful in his time, if it
was only known, when he's so set on living like a hermit away down on
that jumping-off place. Did you see any of them?"

"I saw Miss Oliver, I suppose," said Alan briefly. "At least I