"When I heard about your speech that first night. I was only seventeen
then but I felt almost as if you'd told me the secret. So I've
followed all you've accomplished since, and I would give anything to
have done just the littlest part of it."
"So it's just a matter of recognizing one's destiny and following it?"
he said curiously.
"Just that." Complete conviction was in her tones.
"Then, for the first time in my life, I'm wondering what destiny has in
store for the immediate future," he said with a long stare of his gray
eyes, and in them was that which set her heart throbbing.
"You must go to-morrow?" she ventured. Could such wonderful moments
ever be repeated?
"Yes, at sunrise, and I'll be at the works at noon. Do you know that
you've done a lot for me? It's a selfish remark, but it's true, and
may we have another talk when you get back?"
Her lips trembled, and Clark, gazing at her, felt an intense yearning.
She was very beautiful and very understanding. Then again he
hesitated. There were things, many things, he had in mind to arrange
before he spoke. A few weeks would make no difference, but only
prolong those delightful and undecipherable sensations to which he now
yielded luxuriously. If this was love, he had never known love before.
The sun's red orb was thrusting up over the glassy lake when, next
morning, the big tug with a slow thudding of her propeller, moved from
her anchorage. At Clark's orders they passed on down the channel, and
just where the lake began to broaden was a cluster of white tents. Two
Indians were warming their fingers at a rekindled fire. Clark stared
hard, and lifted his hat.
One of the tent flaps had been opened, and a girl stood against a snowy
background, her hair hanging loose. As the tug drew abreast she waved
good-by, and, for another mile, till he swung round the next point, he
could see the slim figure and its farewell salutation. There was
something mystical about it all. The girl vanished abruptly behind a
screen of trees, the propeller revolved more rapidly, and the sharp
swish of cleft water deepened at the high, straight bow.
He stood for a long time immersed in profound thought, and oblivious of
the keen air of early morning. Never before had he found it hard to go
back to duty.
Six hours later the tug swept into the St. Marys River, and three miles
ahead lay the works, the vast square-topped buildings rising, it
seemed, out of the placid waters of the bay. He drew a long breath and
emerged from fairyland. Had he created all this? Yet it was not more
real than something he had just left and had also created.