Part 13 (1/2)

And at last he murdered her--her and my poor sisters!”

Elizabeth made a sound of horror.

”Oh, there was no intention to murder,” said Anderson bitterly. ”He merely sat up drinking one winter night with a couple of whisky bottles beside him. Then in the morning he was awakened by the cold; the fire had gone out. He stumbled out to get the can of coal-oil from the stable, still dazed with drink, brought it in and poured some on the wood. Some more wood was wanted. He went out to fetch it, leaving his candle alight, a broken end in a rickety candlestick, on the floor beside the coal-oil. When he got to the stable it was warm and comfortable; he forgot what he had come for, fell down on a bundle of straw, and went into a dead sleep. The candle must have fallen over into the oil, the oil exploded, and in a few seconds the wooden house was in flames. By the time I came rus.h.i.+ng back from the slough where I had been breaking the ice for water, the roof had already fallen in. My poor mother and two of the children had evidently tried to escape by the stairway and had perished there; the two others were burnt in their beds.”

”And your father?” murmured Elizabeth, unable to take her eyes from the speaker.

”I woke him in the stable, and told him what had happened. Bit by bit I got out of him what he'd done. And then I said to him, 'Now choose!--either you go, or we. After the funeral, the boys and I have done with you. You can't force us to go on living with you. We will kill ourselves first. Either you stay here, and we go into Winnipeg; or you can sell the stock, take the money, and go. We'll work the farm.' He swore at me, but I told him he'd find we'd made up our minds. And a week later, he disappeared. He had sold the stock, and left us the burnt walls and the land.”

”And you've never seen him since?”

”Never.”

”You believe him dead?”

”I know that he died--in the first Yukon rush of ten years ago. I tracked him there, shortly afterwards. He was probably killed in a scuffle with some miners as drunken as himself.”

There was a silence, which he broke very humbly.

”Do you forgive me? I know I am not sane on this point. I believe I have spoilt your day.”

She looked up, her eyes swimming in tears, and held out her hand.

”It's nothing, you know,” she said, trying to smile--”in our case.

Philip is such a baby.”

”I know; but look after him!” he said earnestly, as he grasped it.

The trees thinned, and voices approached. They emerged from the forest, and found themselves hailed by the Chief Justice.

The journey up the pa.s.s was even more wonderful than the journey down.

Sunset lights lay on the forests, on the glorious lonely mountains, and on the valley of the Yoho, roadless and houseless now, but soon to be as famous through the world as Grindelwald or Chamounix. They dismounted and explored the great camps of workmen in the pa.s.s; they watched the boiling of the stream, which had carved the path of the railway; they gathered white dogwood, and yellow snow-lilies, and red painter's-brush.

Elizabeth and Anderson hardly spoke to each other. She talked a great deal with Delaine, and Mariette held a somewhat acid dispute with her on modern French books--Loti, Anatole France, Zola--authors whom his soul loathed.

But the day had forged a lasting bond between Anderson and Elizabeth, and they knew it.

The night rose clear and cold, with stars s.h.i.+ning on the snow. Delaine, who with Anderson had found quarters in one of Laggan's handful of houses, went out to stroll and smoke alone, before turning into bed. He walked along the railway line towards Banff, in bitterness of soul, debating with himself whether he could possibly leave the party at once.

When he was well out of sight of the station and the houses, he became aware of a man persistently following him, and not without a hasty grip on the stout stick he carried, he turned at last to confront him.

”What do you want with me? You seem to be following me.”

”Are you Mr. Arthur Delaine?” said a thick voice.

”That is my name. What do you want?”

”And you be lodging to-night in the same house with Mr. George Anderson?”