She looked up at the tower. Paul, standing beside her, his arms folded,
his head thrown back, was looking up also. "I can't see the least light
from here," he said. Then again, "_Don't_ you want to go up?"
"Well--if you like."
It was dark within; a man came down with a lantern, and preceded them up
the narrow winding stairway. When they reached the top they could see
nothing but the interior of the little room; so down they came again,
without even saying the usual things: about the probable queerness of
life in such a place; and whether any one could really like it; and that
some persons might be found who would consider it an ideal residence and
never wish to come away. Though their stay had been so short, their
going up so aimless, the expedition did not seem to Eve at all stupid;
in her eyes it had the air of an exciting adventure.
"They will be wondering where we are," said Paul, as he turned the canoe
homeward. She did not answer, it was sweet to her to sit there in
silence, and feel the light craft dart forward through the darkness
under his strong strokes. Who were "they"? Why should "they" wonder?
Paul too said nothing. Unconsciously she believed that he shared her
mood.
When they reached the camp he helped her out. "I hope you are not too
tired? At last I can have the credit of doing something that has pleased
you; I saw how much you wanted to go."
He saw how much she had wanted to go!--that spoiled all. Anger filled
her heart to suffocation.
Two hours later she stood looking from her tent for a moment. Cicely and
Jack, with whom she shared it, were asleep, and she herself was wrapped
in a blue dressing-gown over her delicate night-dress, her hair in long
braids hanging down her back. The judge and Hollis had gone to bed, the
Indians were asleep under their own tent; all was still, save the
regular wash of the water on the beach. By the dying light of the
camp-fire she could make out a figure--Paul, sitting alone beside one
of their rough tables, with his elbow upon it, his head supported by his
hand. Something in his attitude struck her, and reasonlessly, silently,
her anger against him vanished, and its place was filled by a great
tenderness. What was he thinking of? She did not know; she only knew one
thing--that she loved him. After looking at him for some minutes she
dropped the flap of the tent and stole to bed, where immediately she
began to imagine what she might say to him if she were out there, and
what he might reply; her remarks should be very original, touching, or
brilliant; and he would be duly impressed, and would gradually show more
interest. And then, when he began to advance, she would withdraw. So at
last she fell asleep.
Meanwhile, outside by the dying fire, what was Paul Tennant thinking of?
His Clay County iron. He had had another offer, and this project was one
in which he should himself have a share. But could he accept it? Could
he pledge himself to advance the money required? He had only his salary
at present, all his savings having gone to Valparaiso; there were
Ferdie's expenses to think of, and Ferdie's wife, that little wife so
unreasonable and so sweet, she too must lack nothing. It grew towards
midnight; still he sat there pondering, adding figures mentally,
calculating. The bird which had so insistently cried "Whip-po-_Will_,"
"Whip-po-_Will_," had ceased its song; there came from a distance,
twice, the laugh of a loon; Jupiter Light went on flashing its gleam
regularly over the lake.
The man by the fire never once thought of Eve Bruce.