"I am not sailing for a month or so," said Gray. He spoke hurriedly, clearing his throat before he could articulate the words properly. "I think of taking a trip into the mountains. I don't feel equal to the voyage just now."
"Well, take care of yourself; and let us know how you get along." He took Gray's hand and pressed it warmly. "God bless you, my lad!"
Gray looked up into his face with such a strange, wild, miserable glance that Mr. Morton started. He put his hand on the young man's shoulder and looked earnestly at him.
"What is it, Gray? There is something troubling you. Can I help you?"
But Gray drew back.
"There is nothing," he said coldly.
"But there is something," Mr. Morton said to his wife that evening. "Can Gray be keeping back something about Harding, Minnie? I confess I am not altogether satisfied with the result of the search. Harding was not a man to get lost in the Bush; he knew the country too well. And yet—"
"You don't suspect Harding of pretending to be lost?" said his little wife with an amazed look.
"No, no; Harding was not a man to do that sort of thing. I never suspected anything till I saw Gray's face this afternoon. But there is some mystery; and Gray knows more than he has told. I feel sure of that."
"What shall you do?" asked Mrs. Morton, with a startled look on her pretty face.