He spoke as with conviction, and then, lighting his pipe, slowly strolled away; but Weston sat beside the sinking fire for another hour or so. It was clear to him that he must find Grenfell’s lost mine.
It was two days later when he next had any speech with Ida Stirling, and then, though he did not know that Mrs. Kinnaird had done her utmost to prevent it, they were crossing the lake alone in the sailboat. The boat was running smoothly before a little favoring breeze, and Ida sat at the tiller, looking out upon the shining water. They had not spoken since they left the beach, but by and by she turned toward Weston.
“I am glad it is so fine an evening since it’s scarcely likely that I shall have another sail,” she said. “We have decided to leave early on Monday.”
Weston nodded. It was the first time she had mentioned their departure to him, and he recognized that unless he were cautious it might prove a dangerous subject.
“You are going to Montreal?” he inquired.
“In the first place. However, we are going to England in a week or two.”
Though he was on his guard, she saw him start, but he stooped and coiled up one of the halyards before he answered her.
“You will, of course, be there some time?”
“Six months at least, perhaps longer.”
She watched him quietly, but he sat very still with the rope in his hand.