ent comes
to them only when they toil knee-deep in some frothing rapid, or hew
the new waggon-road through a stupendous forest. Why this should be
they do not exactly know, and very few of them trouble themselves
about the matter. Perhaps it is a subconscious recognition of the
first great task that was laid on man to subdue the earth and to make
it fruitful. Nasmyth, at least, heard the river. Its hoarse roar rang
insistently in his ears, and he braced himself for the conflict that
must be fought out in the depths of the canyon. These, however, were
feelings that he could not well express, and once more he doubted
Violet's comprehension.

"My dear," he told her humbly, "I am sorry; but there was, I think,
only one thing I could do."

Violet, looking up, saw that his face was stern, and became sensible
of a faint and perplexing repulsion from him. His languid gracefulness
had vanished, and he was no longer gay or amusing. A rugged elemental
forcefulness had come uppermost in him, and this was a thing she did
not understand. Involuntarily she shrank from this grave, serious man.
There was a disfiguring newly healed cut on one of his cheeks, and his
hand was raw and horribly scarred.

"You have changed since you were last here," she said, looking at him
with disapproval. "Perhaps you really are a little sorry to leave me,
but I think that is all. At least, you will not be sorry to get back
to the canyon."

Nasmyth started a little. It was a thing that he would at one time
certainly not have expected, but he realized now that he was driven by
a fierce impatience to get back to the work he had undertaken.

"I think that is not astonishing in one respect," he replied. "I told
you why I feel that I must carry the project through. The sooner I am
successful, the sooner I can come back to you."

The girl laughed somewhat bitterly. "If you would only be sensible,
you need not go away. Are you quite sure it is not the project that
comes first with you?" she questioned.

Nasmyth felt the blood creep into his face, for it suddenly dawned on
him that the suggestion she had made was to some extent warranted.

"My dear," he answered quietly, "you must try to bear with me."

Violet rose. "Well," she said, "when do you go away?"

"In the morning."

There was resentment in the girl's expression. "Since you have made up
your mind to go, I will make no protest," she declared. Then, with a
swift change of manner, she turned an