Deringham said nothing further, though he was sensible of a slight uneasiness, and presently went back to the house to rejoin his daughter, while the dusk was creeping across the valley when the men from the sawmill and clearing came home, and Deringham led his daughter out when he heard Alton’s voice in the verandah.  The latter and his partner were together, and the girl at first felt a slight sense of relief as her glance fell upon Seaforth, who stood with his wide hat in his hand.  He was, for that country, somewhat fastidious in dress, his eyes were mildly humorous, and his face was pleasant, while he had not as yet wholly lost the stamp of the graceful idler he had brought with him from England.

“This,” said Deringham with the faintest trace of irony, “is our kinsman, Mr. Henry Alton of Carnaby.  You have seen him already.  My daughter Alice, Mr. Alton!”

The girl stood still a moment, and glanced at Seaforth, whom she could not recollect having seen before, with something that suggested not altogether unpleased surprise in her face.  His appearance and attitude disarmed her, but as she was about to speak to him the other man moved so that the fading light fell full upon him.  He stood, tall and almost statuesque in his torn overalls, with the misty pines rolling up the hillside behind him, and a big axe in his hand—­a type, it seemed to her, of Western barbarity—­and a red spot, faint but perceptible, rose into her cheeks as he bent his head.  Then she came near forgetting what was due to both of them in her astonishment and anger.

“You!” she said.

“Yes,” said the axeman gravely.  “Still, your father made a little mistake.  I’m Alton of Somasco.”

Then he turned and moved forward with a gesture that was almost courtly.  “You are very welcome to this poor house of mine,” he said.

CHAPTER VI

MISS DERINGHAM MAKES FRIENDS

The Homeric supper was over, and Miss Deringham, who, sitting next to Alton at the head of the long table, had watched the stalwart axeman feed with sensations divided between disgust and wonder, was talking to Seaforth on the verandah, when her father sat by a window of the room his kinsman called his own.  There were survey maps, tassels of oats, and a great Wapiti head upon the wall, while Alton himself lay almost full length in a deerhide chair.  The window was open wide, and the vista of lake, pine-shrouded hillside, and snow, framed by its log casing, steeped in nocturnal harmonies of silver and blue.  Out of the stillness came the scent of balsam, and the sighing of a little breeze amidst the pines.

Deringham held a good cigar, and there was a cup of coffee beside him, while he was not wholly sorry that they sat in darkness.  He had realized that Alton of Somasco was by no means a fool, and waited his questions with some anxiety.  The rancher, however, had apparently no present intention of asking any.