"I scarcely think that anybody who knows how we live would blame him," he said.
Grace laughed. "Then," she said, "as I'm not quite sure that I know, suppose you tell me."
Ingleby did so in simple fashion, and it is probable that most young women would not have found his story entertaining. Grace Coulthurst, who had lived in the bush, however, had comprehension and could fill in a good deal that he did not supply. It was also, in its own way, to one who knew that country, an epic, a recital of man's high endeavour and herculean grapple with untrammelled nature, for in the struggle for the subjugation of the wilderness the placer miner leads the van. The smothering rush of slipping gravel, the crash of shattered props as the little shaft closed up, and the unexpected fall of half-charred trees had a place in it, as well as the monotony of toil, and the girl listened gravely.
"And you have found the gold?" she said.
"A little," said Ingleby, "but not half enough. We have failed to bottom quite on the old creek bed, and are going to sink again or drive an adit."
The mention of insufficiency was in itself significant, for though he had spoken no word in Canada that could afford the slightest hint of the aspirations that had animated him Grace was quite aware of them. There are not many women who do not know when a man is in love with them.
"But there are only two of you, and it will take you ever so long," she said.
"Still, we will get it done," and there was a curious brightness in Ingleby's eyes.
Grace noticed the hollowness of his quiet face and the leanness of his hard, scarred hands, and her heart grew soft towards him. The sign of the strain was plain upon him, though the breaking point had not yet been reached, and it was for her that he had done so much.
"And you expect the effort will be warranted?" she said.