"Yes, except that the people who lived there would naturally forget all
about the man who laid the foundations and built the walls, and would
even blame him and think only of the one who made the place habitable
for them."
"But does that matter?" she asked quickly, looking at him.
Clark took a long look at the animated face. "That he should be
forgotten or blamed?"
"Yes. You said he worked for the love of it. He didn't ask for thanks
or appreciation, and from what you tell me he wasn't that kind." She
turned swiftly: "It is yourself."
"And if it were, that would not alter your judgment, would it?"
"Is it fair to ask?" Her eyes were full of a touching appeal.
"A frank opinion is the fairest thing to me," he said quietly. "I know
how you would look at it. There's only one answer you could give. If
it were otherwise it wouldn't be you: the first man has no alternative,
has he?"
"No," she whispered. Her face was pitiful, as though she had been
secretly and cruelly hurt.
"Then it is the works I'm considering," he continued slowly. "You're
the only one I can tell just now, but if they go on, it must be without
me."
"But they're your works. You dreamed them and then built them."
"I've had many dreams, Elsie."
Her heart beat rapturously. It was the first time he had called her
Elsie, and her spontaneous spirit went out to this man who stood facing
so great and sacrificial a decision. She longed to spend herself upon
him. Involuntarily she glanced up with profound pity and, turning,
caught a glimpse of a canoe that whipped down stream under the middle
span of the great bridge.
"Oh, look! he's going to be drowned." She clutched Clark's arm in
sudden terror.
The latter stared, while something rose in his throat. The canoe was
familiar. He had seen it a few hours before on the upper bay, and now
his keen sight made out the figure of Belding. Instantly he grasped
the cause of this foolhardy deed. A glance at Elsie told him she was
unaware who it was that thus played with death.
"Look, look!" she cried again.
The canoe pitched into the first cellar, and in the mound of silver
foam they could discern only the slim and tossing bow. Presently it
emerged and reeled on into the fury below. Elsie covered her eyes, and
Clark stood as though fascinated. What part had he played in this
perilous drama?
Vividly his mind flashed back to those first days, the beginning of the
engineer's unswerving loyalty. Year after year he had never faltered,
and at the end of it all, even though apparently robbed by his chief of
his heart's desire, had thrust himself between Clark and the hoarse
hatred of the mob. Came now an overwhelming sense of unworthiness, and
Clark asked of himself who was he to demand such sacrifice. Then, as
though a cloud had revealed the sun, the way became quite clear.
"Elsie," he said, "the canoe is all right, look!"
Down in the long, smooth swell at the foot of the rapids, it lay
sluggishly. The man dipped his paddle and began to move almost
imperceptibly towards shore. The girl drew a long breath.
"He's safe."
"Yes," said Clark earnestly, "he's very safe. Now I want to talk to
you."