Philip soon shook off the stupor which had so nearly resulted in the most horrible of deaths, and was able to help others in rescuing his property. The fire was got under without much loss to the building, though its contents suffered from smoke and water. The young firm was not discouraged by this, as all loss was covered by insurance; they had the promise of a busy time "getting to rights" again, but that was the worst.
It was apparent, upon examination, that the fire was the work of an incendiary; Philip felt, in his heart, what the guilty intention was, and shuddered at his narrow escape. It was decided by him and Mr. Wilde to put the authorities upon the proper track; but the perpetrator had fled, and no clue could be got to him in the city. Mr. Wilde at once suspected he had gone up the river, and feeling that they should have no peace until he was apprehended, and not knowing what mischief he might do at the mill, he took the sheriff with him and started for home, leaving Alice, for the present, at the school, with permission of the principal to see her friends when she chose, as it was now vacation. Before he left there was a long consultation between the three—Philip, Alice, and her father. Philip explained his absence. As he went on to speak of Mortimer Moore and his daughter, of his death, the troubled state of the family affairs, etc., the raftsman betrayed a keener interest than his connection with those affairs would seem to warrant.
"Poor Virginia! she is all alone, and she is your cousin, Philip," said Alice.
"She tried hard to get back her old power over me, Alice. You must beware how you compassionate her too much. But when we are married, and have a home of our own, we will share it with her, if you consent. I've no doubt she can find somebody worthy of her, even in this savage West, as she thinks it. And, by the way, I think we ought to get a home of our own as soon as possible, in order to have a shelter to offer my cousin—don't you, Alice?"
"She's tongue-tied. Girls always lose their tongues when they need 'em the most."
"Now, father, I should think you might answer for me," said Alice, trying to raise her eyes, but blushes and confusion would get the better of her, and she took refuge in her father's lap.
"Well, puss, I s'pose you want to go to school five or six years yet—tell him you've made your cacklations to keep in school till you're twenty-two."
"School! I'll be your teacher," said Philip.
"Choose for yourself, puss. I s'pose the sooner you shake off yer old father, the better you'll like it."
"I shan't shake you off, father. Neither shall I leave you alone up there in the woods. That matter must be settled at the start. I shall never marry, father, to desert you, or be an ungrateful child."