"Well," he resumed, "I cheated you, because I could see no other plan. I think you have waited too long. If you had gone on thinking about nothing but the lode, it would have done you harm."
"Did it harm my father?"
"Yes," said Thirlwell quietly, and Agatha dared ask nothing more. Besides she knew that he would not tell her much.
"Now," he went on, "I have owned my fault; but you're rather taking it for granted that my object was altogether unselfish. After all, the law only gives you so much frontage on the vein, and there's nothing to prevent my staking off a claim on the rest."
"That is so," said Agatha. "But the paper states that my father claimed the edge of the cliff, where, for a time, the ore could be easily worked. As your block would lie farther back, you would have to sink a shaft and drive a tunnel. This would cost you much."
"The cost wouldn't matter if the ore was rich. I could get all the capital I wanted."
Agatha gave him a quiet ironical smile. "Then you really came with me because you meant to stake a claim? That's curious, Mr. Thirlwell, because I think you never believed my father found the lode at all."
He colored and hesitated. "We'll let it go; there's something else. If you turn back now, can you reach Toronto before the school reopens?"
"No," said Agatha, with a soft, excited laugh. "I did not mean to turn back until I was forced. When I reached Toronto I should find somebody else had got my post."
Thirlwell noted her courage, although he thought she was rash. "Wouldn't it be awkward? But I suppose your brother—"