“It’s getting late, and the others will wonder where we are,” she reminded him.

They went back to the house; and when Sylvia joined Mrs. Lansing, George felt seriously annoyed with himself.  He had been deeply stirred, but he had preserved an unmoved appearance when he might have expressed some sympathy of tenderness which could not have been resented.  Presently Ethel West crossed the room to where he was rather moodily standing.

“I believe our car is waiting, and, as Edgar won’t let me come to the station to-morrow, I must say good-by now,” she told him.  “Both Stephen and I are glad he is on your hands.”

“I must try to deserve your confidence,” George said, smiling.  “It’s premature yet.”

“Never mind that.  We’re alike in some respects:  pretty speeches don’t appeal to us.  But there’s one thing I must tell you—­don’t delay out yonder, come back as soon as you can.”

She left him thoughtful.  He had a high opinion of Ethel’s intelligence, but he would entertain no doubts or misgivings.  They were treasonable to Herbert and, what was worse, to Sylvia.

Going to bed in good time, he had only a few words with Sylvia over his early breakfast in the morning.  Then he was driven to the station, where Edgar joined him; and the greater part of their journey proved uneventful.

Twelve days after leaving Liverpool they were, however, awakened early one morning by feeling the express-train suddenly slacken speed.  The big cars shook with a violent jarring, and George hurriedly swung himself down from his upper berth.  He had some difficulty in getting into his jacket and putting on his boots, but he pushed through the startled passengers and sprang down upon the track before the train quite stopped.  He knew that accidents were not uncommon in the wilds of northern Ontario.

Ragged firs rose, dripping, against the rosy glow in the eastern sky, with the narrow gap, hewed out for the line, running through their midst.  Some had been stripped of their smaller branches by fire, and leaned, dead and blackened, athwart each other.  Beneath them, shallow pools gleamed in the hollows of the rocks, which rose in rounded masses here and there, and the gravel of the graded track was seamed by water channels.  George remembered having heard the roar of heavy rain and a crash of thunder during the night, but it was now wonderfully still and fresh, and the resinous fragrance of the firs filled the chilly air.

Walking forward, clear of the curious passengers who poured from the cars, he saw a lake running back into the woods.  A tall water-tank stood on the margin with a shanty, in which George imagined a telegraph operator was stationed, at its foot.  Ahead, the great locomotive was pouring out a cloud of sooty smoke.  When George reached it he waited until the engineer had finished talking to a man on the line.

“What are we stopping for?  Has anything gone wrong?” he asked.