Jean was presently off down the hill to thank George Gillies, leaving Marvin and Moira alone.
“Miss Jamison, what can I say to Dr. Rich?”
“Nothing. He knows that I’m your sufficient chaperon.”
She looked it. She sat there in a hole, but the sun had spied her out and was fitting a coronet to her coronet face. Her back was as straight as the ramrod in the rifle that her Indian ancestor used at Quebec. It was in the loyal arms of that ancestor that the lord marquis Montcalm died.
Marvin went down into the rifle pit and helped her up, and together they descended to the river’s edge, where he received the telegram from the Scotchman’s hands.
He read it aloud:
Proceed by first train to Montreal. Destination Southampton. Instructions and passport at my banker’s.
Chase Mahan.
“Is that your father?”
“Yes.”