"Yes," said Grace, with a trace of dryness in her smile; "is that very
dreadful? You will go away in due time, too. While you struggle for what
you think will buy my favour, _I_ must wait patiently."
"I suppose I have deserved it," and Ingleby winced. "Still, it will be
horribly hard to let you go. It is a good deal to know that you are here
even when I may not see you."
Grace smiled. "Well," she said, "if that would afford you any great
satisfaction, is there any reason why you should not go to Vancouver
too? Most of the placer miners do."
Ingleby's glance at her suggested that the notion had not occurred to
him. Regular work at the mine would be out of the question until the
spring came round again, and already several of the men were talking of
leaving the valley. He could also readily afford to spend a few months
in Vancouver now. Still, there was one insuperable obstacle.
"If I had only kept my claim!" he said. "It is horribly unfortunate I
let it go."
"How does that affect the question?"
"I made a compact with Tomlinson to hold his claim for him."
Once more the colour crept into Grace's face. "You do not mean to let
that stop you when there are men you could hire to do what the law
requires?"
"You don't seem to understand," and there was a trace of astonishment in
Ingleby's eyes. "One could not depend absolutely upon them, and I made a
bargain with Tomlinson. That claim is worth everything to him and his
mother--I think it is--back in Oregon."
The flush grew plainer in Grace's cheek. She was a trifle imperious, and
now her will had clashed with one that was as resolute as it. She was,
however, sensible that she had blundered.
"Those men could do almost as much as you could, which would, after all,
be very little just now," she said. "I never meant that you should risk
the claim falling in."
"They might fall sick, or get hurt."
"And that might happen to you."
"I should, at least, have kept my word to Tomlinson," said Ingleby
gravely.
Grace was too proud to persist. He was right, of course, but the fact
that he would sooner part from her than incur the slightest risk of
breaking faith with Tomlinson had nevertheless its sting. That, however,
she would not show.
"Then I suppose I must not complain," she said. "You evidently have no
intention of doing so."
Ingleby made a little gesture. "It will be hard--but it can't be
helped," he replied. "As you said, I must go away too one day. Still, I
think that I, at least, will feel by and by that it was all worth
while."
Then there was a tramp of feet in the adjoining room, and he raised the
hand he held and just touched it with his lips. It was not what Grace
would have expected from him, but she noticed that he did not do it
awkwardly.
"That is all I ask until I have won my spurs," he said. "Just now I am
only the squire of low degree."
Grace said nothing, for the door opened and the major came in.