"No?" said Seaforth, still a trifle hoarsely. "And now I think you know."
Alton nodded, and there was a very kindly smile in his eyes. "Yes; I'm beginning to understand—a good deal," he said. "I'm very glad, for there are not many girls like Miss Townshead in the Dominion. Charley, you're a lucky man, but why have you been so long over it? It never struck me that you were bashful."
Seaforth smiled mirthlessly. "If you will listen a few minutes you will see how fortunate I am. You never asked me what brought me out from the old country, Harry."
Alton gravely pressed his arm. "There are times when one must talk.
Go on, if it will do you good," he said.
It was not an uncommon story Seaforth told that night, and Alton, who had heard it, slightly varied, several times already, could fill up the gaps when his comrade ceased, and the drip from the branches splashing upon the canvas replaced his disjointed utterance. Seaforth was very young when it happened and the woman older than him.
"Now you see what kept me silent. It wasn't a nice thing to tell—you," he said.
Alton glanced at him with grave sympathy, and then stared at the fire. "And what became of her? I saw her picture once—in a twenty-five cent album," he said. "A woman of that kind would know what she was about?"
Seaforth smiled wryly. "I was not the only fool," he said. "When I'd flung away everything a richer man came along."
Alton was silent a space. "Three thousand pounds," he said, "is a good deal, even in the old country."
"Yes," said Seaforth wearily; "though it goes a very little way as I spent it, it is, and I've been paying it back, at first a few dollars at a time, ever since I came out to the Dominion. You see, the old man paid off everything, though I know now money was very scarce with him then, and I've wondered sometimes how far it helped to break him. He died soon after the crash came—and the girls had nothing."