Still, one moonlight evening, when Alton waited upon its verandah, cigar in hand, the house stood upon the hillside, picturesque with its painted scroll-work, green shutters, colonnades of cedar pillars, and broad verandahs.  Its owner was an Englishman who had prospered in the Dominion, and combined the kindliness he still retained for his countrymen with the lavish hospitality of the West.  He knew Alton by reputation, and having business with him had made him free of his house when he inquired for Deringham, who was his guest, during the former’s absence in the State of Washington.  That was how Alton came to be waiting for dinner in company with a young naval officer.  Deringham and his daughter had returned during the day, but they had driven somewhere with their hostess and not come back as yet.

Alton had seen Commander Thorne for the first time that day, but some friendships are made rapidly and without an effort, and he was already sensible of a regard for his companion.  He was a quiet and unobtrusive Englishman, with the steadiness of gaze and decisiveness of speech which characterized those who command at sea, and had discovered that he had, notwithstanding the difference in their vocations, much in common with rancher Alton.

“Yes,” he said.  “It is very good of you, and if we stay at Esquimault I will come up and spend a day or two among the deer.  Atkinson told us what a good time he had with you, but we were a trifle astonished to see the fine wapiti head he brought back with him.”

There was a faint twinkle in the speaker’s eyes which Alton understood, for Atkinson, who was not an adept at trailing deer, had shot more than a wapiti.  Still, he was not the man to allude to the misadventures of his guest.

“He killed it neatly—­a good hundred yards, and in the fern,” he said.

“Well,” said Thorne with a little laugh, “you were with him, and know best.  You had, however, a tolerably mixed bag on that occasion?”

Alton checked a smile.  “A wapiti, a wood deer—­and sundries.”

Thorne laughed again.  “I wonder if you have forgotten the hog?  You see, Atkinson told us one night at mess, and I was inclined to fancy he came near including you in the bag.”

Alton’s face was suspiciously grave, but his answer strengthened the incipient friendship between the men.

“It is a little difficult for a stranger to distinguish things in the bush.”

Thorne nodded.  “You had Deringham and Miss Deringham staying with you?”

“Yes,” said Alton.  “They are connections of mine, and Miss Deringham did a good deal for me when I was sick a little while ago.  You knew them in the old country?”

There was, though he strove to suppress it, something in his voice which caused the naval officer to glance at him sharply.  “Oh, yes,” he said.  “I knew them—­rather well.”

The men’s eyes met, and both were conscious that the words might have been amplified, while it was with a slight abruptness they returned to the previous topic and discussed it until there was a rattle of wheels in the drive.  Then Forel, their host, came out upon the verandah, and there was a hum of voices as several people descended from the vehicle beneath.