. It is not
yours."

"But you are loyal!" The note was one of pain.

"Are we? Foolish word! Yes, we are loyal, as you are--loyal to a common
ideal, a common mission in the world."

"To blood also--and to history?" Her voice was almost entreating. What
he had said seemed to jar with other and earlier sayings of his, which
had stirred in her a patriotic pleasure.

He smiled at her emotion--her implied reproach.

"Yes, we stand together. We march together. But Canada will have her own
history; and you must not try to make it for her."

Their eyes met; in hers exaltion, in his a touch of sternness, a
moment's revelation of the Covenanter in his soul.

Then as the delightful vision of her among the flowers, in her white
dress, the mountains behind and around her, imprinted itself on his
senses, he was conscious of a moment of intolerable pain. Between her
and him--as it were--the abyss opened. The trembling waves of colour in
the grass, the noble procession of the clouds, the gleaming of the
snows, the shadow of the valleys--they were all wiped out. He saw
instead a small unsavoury room--the cunning eyes and coarse mouth of his
father. He saw his own future as it must now be; weighted with this
burden, this secret; if indeed it were still to be a secret; if it were
not rather the wiser and the manlier plan to have done with secrecy.

Elizabeth rose with a little shiver. The wind had begun to blow cold
from the northwest.

"How soon can we run down? I hope Mr. Arthur will have sent Philip
indoors."

Anderson left Lake Louise about eight o'clock, and hurried down the
Laggan road. His mind was divided between the bitter-sweet of these last
hours with Elizabeth Merton, and anxieties, small practical anxieties,
about his father. There were arrangements still to make. He was not
himself going to Vancouver. McEwen had lately shown a strong and
petulant wish to preserve his incognito, or what was left of it. He
would not have his son's escort. George might come and see him at
Vancouver; and that would be time enough to settle up for the winter.

So Ginnell, owner of the boarding house, a stalwart Irishman of six foot
three, had been appointed to see him through his journey, settle him
with his new protectors, and pay all necessary expenses.

Anderson knocked at his father's door and was allowed to enter. He found
McEwen walking up and down his room, with the aid of a stick, irritably
pushing chairs and clothes out of