"I know," he said; "I can guess what it is. That was why I did not come sooner. I came now because I have something to say to you. I did not intend to come at all, but then something happened and—I have changed my mind. I will only keep you a moment."
His voice was not quite steady, but grave and determined, with a tone in it which the girl did not recognize. Her hand slipped from his arm.
"Tell me first," he went on, "if you are quite sure that the mushrooms you brought for dinner—all of them—the yellow ones—are entirely harmless."
Certainly this was an unexpected question. Something in the solemn manner and suddenness of it may have seemed farcical. For an instant she perhaps thought him jesting, for there was a note of laughter in her voice as she replied:
"Oh, yes; quite certain. Those are the Cæsar mushrooms—food of the gods—I brought them especially for you. But how did you know of them?"
He did not respond to this question, nor to her light tone.
"Miss Deane," he went on, "I know perfectly well what you came here to say. I happened to be in the little grove of birches to-night when you landed with your mother and Robin Farnham, and I saw and heard what took place on the dock, almost before I realized that I was eavesdropping. Unfortunately, though I did not know it then, another saw and heard, as well, and the shock of it was such that it not only crushed her spirit but upset her moral balance for the time. You will know, of course, that I refer to Edith Morrison. She had to know, and perhaps no one is to blame for her suffering—and mine; only it seems unfortunate that the revelation should have come just as it did rather than in the gentler way which you perhaps had planned."
He paused a moment to collect words for what he had to say next. Constance was looking directly at him, though her expression was lost in the dusk. Her voice, however, was full of anxiety.
"There is a mistake," she began eagerly. "Oh, I will explain, but not now. Where is Edith? Tell me first what has happened to Edith."
"I will do that, presently. She is quite safe. The man she was to marry is with her. But first I have something to say—something that I wish to tell you before—before I go. I want to say to you in all honesty that I consider Robin Farnham a fine, manly fellow—more worthy of you than I—and that I honor you in your choice, regretting only that it must bring sorrow to other hearts. I want to confess to you that never until after that day upon the mountain did I realize the fullness of my love for you—that it was all in my life that was worth preserving—that it spoke to the best there was in me. I want you to know that it stirred old ambitions and restored old dreams, and that I awoke to renewed effort and to the hope of achievement only because of you and of your approval. The story I read to you that day on the mountain was my story. I wrote it those days while you were away. It was the beginning of a work I hoped to make worth while. I believed that you cared, and that with worthy effort I could win you for my own. I had Robin Gray's character in mind for my hero, not dreaming that I should be called upon to make a sacrifice on my own account, but now that the time is here I want you to know that I shall try not to make it grudgingly or cravenly, but as manfully as I can. I want to tell you from my heart and upon my honor that I wish you well—that if ever the day comes when I can be of service to you or to him, I will do whatever lies in my power and strength. It is not likely such a time will ever come, for in the matter of means you will have ample and he will have enough. Those bonds which poor old Robin Gray believed worthless all these years have been restored to their full value, and more; and, even if this were not true, Robin Farnham would make his way and command the recognition and the rewards of the world. What will become of my ambition I do not know. It awoke too late to mean anything to you, and the world does not need my effort. As a boy, I thought it did, and that my chances were all bright ahead. But once, a long time ago, in these same hills, I gave my lucky piece to a little mountain girl, and perhaps I gave away my opportunities with it, and my better strength. Now, there is no more to say except God bless you and love you, as I always will."