ably certain he had once belonged, while he
swung the ax or plied the shovel beside some western railroad track;
though she did not mean for him to do the latter if she could help it,
of which, however, she was far from sure.

"Yes," she said. "Still we shall spend some time at the house in the
north of England you once heard Major Kinnaird mention."

There was no doubt that this shot had reached its mark, for she saw
his little abrupt movement. Then he turned toward her fully, which he
had not done for the last minute or two.

"Miss Stirling," he said, with a faint flush in his face, "I am going
to ask you a rather curious thing. If you meet any of the people about
there, I should rather you did not mention my name, though, of course,
it is scarcely likely that you would find any reason to do so."

He broke off, and hesitated a moment.

"You see, I know the place."

"Ah," said Ida, with no sign of surprise. "What were you doing there?"

The man smiled rather bitterly.

"I was something similar to head gamekeeper. It wasn't an occupation I
cared much about."

"You got tired of it?"

"Anyway, that wasn't why I gave it up. I was turned out. Fired, they
call it in this country."

Ida for a moment was almost angry with him. She felt, simply because
he had said it, that this must be correct as far as it went, but she
was equally sure that he could have gone a good deal further. She was,
of course, aware that there were a good many men in Canada whose
absence from the old country was not regretted by their friends, and
she was a little hurt that he did not seem to shrink from the
possibility of her setting him down as one of them. She could not know
that he was in a very bitter mood just then.

"Well," she said, "as you say, it is not likely that I shall have any
occasion to mention you, and I certainly won't do it casually. You
must, however, be content with that."

"Yes," said Weston. "After all, it really doesn't matter very much
anyway."

Ida let the matter drop, for she had something else to say, and it had
been in her mind rather often lately.

"When we leave here you will be without an occupation, won't you?" she
asked; and then proceeded somewhat hastily without waiting for him to
answer. "Now, you have done a good deal to make the time pass
pleasantly both here and in British Columbia."

"It did pass pleasantly?"

The question was suggestively abrupt, and Ida saw that, as happened
now and then,