She held out her hand and Carroll took it, though he had not expected to part from her on friendly terms.
“I owe you a deal for that,” he said and turned away.
His task, however, was only half complete when he left the house, and the remaining portion was the more difficult, but he meant to finish it. He preferred to take life lightly; he had trifled with it before disaster had driven him out into the wilds; but there was resolution in the man, and he could force himself to play an unpleasant part when it was needful. Fortune also favoured him, as she often does those who follow the boldest course.
He had entered Hastings Street when he met Kitty and Celia. The latter looked thin and somewhat pale, but she was moving briskly, and her face was eager when she shook hands with him.
“We have been anxious about you—there was no news,” she said. “Is Mr. Vane with you? How have you got on?”
“We found the spruce,” said Carroll. “It’s not worth milling—a forest fire has wiped most of it out—but we struck some shingling cedar we may make something of.”
“But where’s Mr. Vane?”
“In the bush; I’ve a good deal to tell you about him, but we can’t talk here. I wonder if we could find a quiet place in a restaurant, or if the park would be better.”
“The park,” said Kitty decidedly.
They reached it in due time and Carroll, who had refused to say anything about Vane on the way, found the girls a seat in a grove of giant firs and sat down opposite to them. Though it was winter, the day, as is often the case near Vancouver, was pleasantly mild.