"Then the only remedy is to borrow the money here."
Carlyon laughed.
"Who'd lend it to me? Besides, if the Colonel knew how I was fixed, he'd turn me out of the settlement."
"I know a man in Winnipeg who does this kind of business, but he'd charge you high and want a bond. That means he'd seize your land in a year or two if you couldn't pay."
"The other fellow would seize it now," Carlyon said with eagerness. "If I could get the money, I'd have time to see what could be done, and something might turn up. Will you introduce me?"
The matter was arranged before Gerald left; and two days later they were in Winnipeg. They found Davies willing to do business. Indeed, after making a few difficulties as an excuse for raising the interest, he supplied Carlyon with the money he needed, and when the men left his office he lighted a cigar with a satisfied smile. He now held two mortgages on land at Allenwood, and he thought that he could make good use of them if, as he expected, the loans were not repaid. Then it was possible that Mowbray might bring him another customer. He saw a big profit for himself, and trouble for the Allenwood settlers, when the reckoning came.
Shortly after Gerald's visit to Winnipeg, one of his neighbors returned from England, where he had gone to look into matters connected with some property he had recently inherited. His absence had been a relief to Beatrice, and she was especially disturbed to learn that on his arrival he had spent an hour in private talk with her father. Brand had continually shown strong admiration for her, which she by no means reciprocated. She did not actually dislike the man; but his attentions annoyed her. She knew, however, that he enjoyed Colonel Mowbray's full approval. He came of good family and his character was irreproachable; moreover, being past forty, he had outgrown all youthful rashnesses. Of rather handsome person and polished manners, Brand was generally characterized by staid gravity, and Mowbray considered his views exceptionally sound.
Beatrice was keenly curious about what he had said to her father. She imagined that her mother knew, but no hint was given to her, and when she met Brand it was always in the company of others and there was nothing to be gathered from his manner. It was, however, not often that he displayed his sentiments.
The thaw had begun when she walked home from the Broadwood farm one afternoon. The snow had vanished as if by magic, and shallow lagoons glittered among the bleached grass. The sky was a brilliant blue, and rounded clouds with silver edges rolled across it before the fresh northwest breeze which would blow persistently until summer was done. Their swift shadows streaked the plain and passed, leaving it suffused with light. There was a genial softness in the air.
Beatrice picked her way cautiously toward a straggling bluff, for the ponds along its edge had overflowed and the ground was marish. On reaching the woods she stopped in a sheltered nook to enjoy the sunshine. The birches and poplars were bare, but their stems were changing color and the twigs had lost their dry and brittle look. The willows in a hollow were stained with vivid hues by the rising sap, and there was a flush of green among the grass. Small purple flowers like crocuses were pushing through the sod. From high overhead there fell a harsh, clanging cry, and the girl, looking up, saw a flock of brent geese picked out in a wedge against the sky. Behind came a wedge of mallard, and farther off, gleaming snowily, a flight of sandhill cranes. Spring was in the air; the birds had heard its call, and were pressing on toward the polar marshes, following the sun. Beatrice felt a curious stirring of her blood. It was half pleasant, half painful, for while she responded to the gladness that pervaded everything the sunshine kissed, she was conscious of a disturbing longing, a mysterious discontent. She would not try to analyze her feelings, but she felt that her life was narrow and somehow incomplete.