The sun had gone down when Miss Sommerton put her foot once more on the
landing.
“We will go and search for him,” said the boatman.
“Stay where you are,” she commanded, and disappeared swiftly up the
path. Expecting to find him still at the falls, she faced the prospect
of a good mile of rough walking in the gathering darkness without
flinching. But at the brow of the hill, within hearing distance of the
landing, she found the man of whom she was in search. In her agony of
mind Miss Sommerton had expected to come upon him pacing moodily up and
down before the falls, meditating on the ingratitude of womankind. She
discovered him in a much less romantic attitude. He was lying at full
length below a white birch-tree, with his camera-box under his head for
a pillow. It was evident he had seen enough of the Shawenegan Falls for
one day, and doubtless, because of the morning’s early rising, and the
day’s long journey, had fallen soundly asleep. His soft felt hat lay on
the ground beside him. Miss Sommerton looked at him for a moment, and
thought bitterly of Mason’s additional perjury in swearing that he was
an elderly man. True, his hair was tinged with grey at the temples, but
there was nothing elderly about his appearance. Miss Sommerton saw that
he was a handsome man, and wondered this had escaped her notice before,
forgetting that she had scarcely deigned to look at him. She thought he
had spoken to her with inexcusable bluntness at the falls, in refusing
to destroy his plate; but she now remembered with compunction that he
had made no allusion to his ownership of the boat for that day, while
she had boasted that it was hers. She determined to return and send one
of the boatmen up to awaken him, but at that moment Trenton suddenly
opened his eyes, as a person often does when some one looks at him
in his sleep. He sprang quickly to his feet, and put up his hand in
bewilderment to remove his hat, but found it wasn’t there. Then he
laughed uncomfortably, stooping to pick it up again.
“I--I--I wasn’t expecting visitors,” he stammered--
“Why did you not tell me,” she said, “that Mr. Mason had promised you
the boat for the day?”
“Good gracious!” cried Trenton, “has Ed. Mason told you that?”
“I have not seen Mr. Mason,” she replied; “I found it out by catching an
accidental remark made by one of the boatmen. I desire very humbly to
apologise to you for my conduct.”
“Oh, that doesn’t matter at all, I assure you.”
“What! My conduct doesn’t?”
“No, I didn’t mean quite that; but I----Of course, you did treat me
rather abruptly; but then, you know, I saw how it was. You looked on me
as an interloper, as it were, and I think you were quite justified, you
know, in speaking as you did. I am a very poor hand at conversing with
ladies, even at my best, and I am not at my best to-day. I had to get
up too early, so there is no doubt what I said was said very awkwardly
indeed. But it really doesn’t matter, you know--that is, it doesn’t
matter about anything you said.”
“I think it matters very much--at least, it matters very much to me. I
shall always regret having treated you as I did, and I hope you will
forgive me for having done so.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” said Mr. Trenton, swinging his camera over his
shoulder. “It is getting dark, Miss Sommerton; I think we should hurry
down to the canoe.”
As they walked down the hill together, he continued--
“I wish you would let me give you a little lesson in photography, if you
don’t mind.”
“I have very little interest in photography, especially amateur
photography,” replied Miss Sommerton, with a partial return of her old
reserve.
“Oh, I don’t wish to make an amateur photographer of you. You sketch
very nicely, and--”
“How do you know that?” asked Miss Sommerton, turning quickly towards
him: “you have never seen any of my sketches.”
“Ah, well,” stammered Trenton, “no--that is--you know--are not those
water-colours in Mason’s house yours?”
“Mr. Mason has some of my sketches. I didn’t know you had seen them.”
“Well, as I was saying,” continued Trenton, “I have no desire to convert
you to the beauties of amateur photography. I admit the results in many
cases are very bad. I am afraid if you saw the pictures I take myself
you would not be much in love with the art. But what I wish to say is in
mitigation of my refusal to destroy the plate when you asked me to.”
“Oh, I beg you will not mention that, or refer to anything at all I have
said to you. I assure you it pains me very much, and you know I have
apologised once or twice already.”
“Oh, it isn’t that. The apology should come from me; but I thought I
would like to explain why it is that I did not take your picture, as you
thought I did.”
“Not take my picture? Why I _saw_ you take it. You admitted yourself you
took it.”
“Well, you see, that is what I want to explain. I took your picture, and
then again I didn’t take it. This is how it is with amateur photography.
Your picture on the plate will be a mere shadow, a dim outline, nothing
more. No one can tell who it is. You see, it is utterly impossible to
take a dark object and one in pure white at the instantaneous snap. If
the picture of the falls is at all correct, as I expect it will be, then
your picture will be nothing but a shadow unrecognisable by any one.”
“But they do take pictures with the cataract as a background, do they
not? I am sure I have seen photos of groups taken at Niagara Falls; in
fact, I have seen groups being posed in public for that purpose, and
very silly they looked, I must say. I presume that is one of the things
that has prejudiced me so much against the camera.”
“Those pictures, Miss Sommerton, are not genuine; they are not at all
what they pretend to be. The prints that you have seen are the results
of the manipulation of two separate plates, one of the plates containing
the group or the person photographed, and the other an instantaneous
picture of the falls. If you look closely at one of those pictures you
will see a little halo of light or dark around the person photographed.
That, to an experienced photographer, shows the double printing. In
fact, it is double dealing all round. The deluded victim of the camera
imagines that the pictures he gets of the falls, with himself in the
foreground, is really a picture of the falls taken at the time he is
being photographed. Whereas, in the picture actually taken of him, the
falls themselves are hopelessly over-exposed, and do not appear at all
on the plate. So with the instantaneous picture I took; there will
really be nothing of you on that plate that you would recognise as
yourself. That was why I refused to destroy it.”
“I am afraid,” said Miss Sommerton, sadly, “you are trying to make my
punishment harder and harder. I believe in reality you are very cruel.
You know how badly I feel about the whole matter, and now even the one
little point that apparently gave me any excuse is taken away by your
scientific explanation.”
“Candidly, Miss Sommerton, I am more of a culprit than you imagine, and
I suppose it is the tortures of a guilty conscience that caused me to
make this explanation. I shall now confess without reserve. As you sat
there with your head in your hand looking at the falls, I deliberately
and with malice aforethought took a timed picture, which, if developed,
will reveal you exactly as you sat, and which will not show the falls at
all.”
Miss Sommerton walked in silence beside him, and he could not tell just
how angry she might be. Finally he said, “I shall destroy that plate, if
you order me to.”
Miss Sommerton made no reply, until they were nearly at the canoe. Then
she looked up at him with a smile, and said, “I think it a pity to
destroy any pictures you have had such trouble to obtain.”
“Thank you, Miss Sommerton,” said the artist. He helped her into the
canoe in the gathering dusk, and then sat down himself. But neither of
them saw the look of anxiety on the face of the elder boatman. He knew
the River St. Maurice.