Then Foster forgot his perplexities as he took out the letters. The first was from Lucy Stephen, who said that the doctor had visited Lawrence and was satisfied with his progress. She added that Foster knew Lawrence disliked writing letters, but she wanted to reassure him and wish him good luck. The note was short, but seemed to put Foster on a footing of intimate friendship that he was grateful for, and he thought Lucy had written with this object.
The other was from Alice Featherstone and his heart beat as he studied it. She did not say much; they had still no news of Lawrence and her father was very restless and anxious, while she feared her mother felt the suspense. But she knew Foster would make every effort and would not fail them; there was nobody else who could help. All she said struck a note of quiet confidence. Her faith was unshaken; she trusted him.
Foster thrilled and his weariness and dejection vanished. Alice would have got Lawrence's telegram soon after she wrote and she had proof of his honesty now. Still, he had only kept half his promise, and although he had undertaken a task that needed abilities he doubted if he possessed, he meant to keep the other half. He was hemmed in by difficulties and might make mistakes, but somehow he was going to make good.
For a time he sat in a corner, recalling what Alice had said in England and how she had looked. He pictured her standing in the dark-paneled library at the Garth, with eyes that sparkled as she spoke in his defense, sitting with a smile in the half-light by the big hearth in the hall, and waiting for him in the orchard. She moved through all the scenes with the same calm grace; even in her anger—and he had seen her angry—there was a proud reserve. But Alice stood above all other women; there was nobody like her.
Then he got up with a resolute movement. Dreams and memories would not help, and he must get to work. To begin with, he would try to find out something about Telford, and went to the office, where the clerk was unoccupied. As a rule, nobody knows more about everybody else's business than the clerk of a Western hotel.
"Is there much doing in real estate just now?" he asked.
"There will be soon. The mines are paying well and the bosses are planning new developments. Then there's a big scheme for opening up the ranching land in the bench country. That means a bigger city. Are you looking for building lots?"
"My line's dressed lumber, but when you get a building boom you want material. I suppose Mr. Telford does a good trade?"
"Talks as if he was going to, but he hasn't begun yet," the clerk replied with a smile that hinted that he had expected the inquiry.
"Then he hasn't been here long?"