Wheeler could take a hint, and he crawled away along the heading, while Nasmyth toiled for the next half-hour strenuously at the machine. The perspiration dripped from him. He gasped as he ripped the handle around; then he let it go suddenly, and his face became softer as he picked up the letter again.
“Well,” he told himself, “I don’t think I can blame her, after all, and with what she has to say it would hurt if I kept her waiting.”
He sat down again at the machine, and the boring tool crunched on steadily into the rock until after some time, a man took his place, and, crouching in the narrow heading, swung the heavy hammer as they wedged the extra timbers fast. A faint grey light was creeping into the eastern sky when Nasmyth crawled out of the heading and scrambled back to the shanty. Gordon, who was getting up when he entered, looked at him curiously.
“I’m going into Bonavista after breakfast,” Nasmyth said. “I don’t want to leave the boys now, but I can’t help it.”
Gordon asked no injudicious questions, for Wheeler had mentioned the letter, and his comrade’s voice had its significance for him.
“Then,” he said, “I’ll tell Mattawa to have the horse ready.”
Nasmyth slept soundly until the meal was laid out. He rode into the settlement a little before dark that night. It was the next afternoon when he reached Bonavista, and he found Violet Hamilton sitting upon the veranda alone. She appeared embarrassed when she saw him, and he leaned against one of the pillars, quietly looking down on her. For a moment or two neither of them said anything, and it was Nasmyth who broke the awkward silence.
“I felt very bitter when I got that note,” he said. “When I grappled with the thing, however, I commenced to realize that you might be right. Of course, I quite realized all you wished to imply.”
“Ah!” answered the girl softly, “then you are not very angry with me.” She leaned forward and met his gaze. “I think we were both very nearly making a terrible mistake.”