her did with me."

He rose and leaned against a pillar, with a curious look in his face.

"The struggle that her mother and I made has left its mark on me. The
friends we left in the rut behind us looked for my failure, and it
seemed then that all the men with money had leagued themselves
together to stop me from going on. Somehow I beat them, one by
one--big engineers, financiers, financiers' syndicates,
corporations--working late and working early, sinking every dollar
made in another venture, and living any way. There were no amenities
in that fight until those we had against us found that it was wiser to
keep clear of me."

Then, with a little forceful gesture, he took off his hat.

"What I am, in part, at least, my girl's mother made me. She's asleep
at last, and because of what she bore it's up to me to make things
smoother for her daughter. Madam," he added, turning to his companion
with a smile, "I have to thank you for doing what you must have
figured was your duty; but in the meanwhile we'll--let things slide."

He turned away and left her before she could answer, astonished but a
little touched by what she had heard. Still, the gentler impression
vanished, and when she informed Major Kinnaird of what had been said
she was once more somewhat angry with Stirling.

"It is really useless to reason with him," she said. "The man has
wholly preposterous views."

CHAPTER XIV

IDA ASSERTS HER AUTHORITY

It was a hot afternoon, and Ida, who was tired of fishing, sat
carefully in the middle of a fragile birch canoe. Her rod lay
unjointed beside her, and two or three big trout gleamed in the bottom
of the craft, while Weston, who knelt astern, leisurely dipped the
single-bladed paddle. Dusky pines hung over the river, wrapping it in
grateful shadow, through which the water swirled crystal clear, and
the canoe moved slowly down-stream across the slack of an eddy.
Farther out, the stream frothed furiously among great boulders and
then leaped in a wild white rush down a rapid, though here and there a
narrow strip of green water appeared in the midst of the latter. The
deep roar it made broke soothingly through the drowsy heat, and Ida
listened languidly while she watched the pines slide past.

"I wonder what has become of the major," she said at length, with a
little laugh. "It is too hot for fine casting, and he probably has had
enough of it. After all, it really doesn't matter that the fish won't
rise