When I reached it the usually sleepy settlement presented a stirring scene. Long strings of flat cars cumbered the trebled sidetrack, rows of huts had risen as by magic, and two big locomotives moved ceaselessly to and fro. Dozens of oxen and horse teams hauled the great iron scoops which tore the sod up to form the roadbed, while the air vibrated with the thud of shovels, the ringing of hammers, and the clang of falling rails. The track lengthened yard by yard as I stood and watched. In another week or two the swarming toilers would have moved their mushroom town further on towards Crane Valley, and I was almost oppressed by a sense of what all this tremendous activity promised me. It meant at least prosperity instead of penury, the realizing of ambitions, perhaps a road to actual affluence; also it might be far more than this. I scarcely saw Haldane until he grasped my hand.
"It is a great day, Ormesby," he said. "No man can tell exactly how far this narrow steel road may carry all of you. Still, one might almost say that you have deserved it—and it has come at last."
"It will either be the brightest day in all my life—or the worst," I said. "Will you listen to me for two minutes, sir?"
Haldane did so, and then leaned against a flat car, with the wrinkles deepening on his forehead, for what appeared to be an inordinately long time. "I may tell you frankly that I had not anticipated this—and am not sure I should not have tried to prevent it if I had," he said. "I know nothing that does not testify in your favor as an individual, Ormesby; but, as even you admit, there are objections from one point of view. Still, this road and our new schemes may do much for you and—— Well, I never refused my daughter anything, and if she approves of you, and you will not separate us altogether, I won't say no."
I had expected nothing better, and dreaded a great deal worse; and my pulses throbbed furiously when, after some further speech, Haldane strolled away with a half-wistful, half-regretful glance at his daughter who approached us as we spoke. She was in high spirits, and greeted me cordially.
"You ought to be happy, and you look serious. This is surely the best you could have hoped for," she said.
It seemed best to end the uncertainty at once, and yet, remembering Cotton's fate, I was afraid. Nevertheless, mustering courage, I looked straight at the speaker, and slowly shook my head. Lucille was always shrewd, and I think she understood, for her lips quivered a little, and the smile died out of her eyes.
"You are difficult to satisfy. Is it not enough?" she said.
Her voice had in it no trace of either encouragement or disdain, and a boldness I had scarcely hoped for came upon me as I answered: "In itself it is worth nothing to me. What you said is true, for I have set my hopes very high. There is only one prize in the Dominion that would satisfy me, and that is—you."
Lucille moved a little away from me, and I could not see her face, for she looked back towards the train of cars which came clanking down the track; but for once words were given me, and when I ceased, she looked up again. Though the rich damask had deepened in her cheek, there was a significant question in her eyes.