“None. On our return toward camp, I will manage to send Jack off, and will myself slip down to Colkett’s, and will look about me. If necessary, I can talk it out frankly. I think I could know in five minutes all the man knows, if he is in the thing at all.”
“But you won’t forget my warning, Mr. Carington. Joe is a poor sodden dog, but the woman is a devil.”
Carington smiled. “Oh, I shall have my rifle; and, after all, what could a woman do? There is no manner of risk.” He did not say that the notion of there being some peril in the matter made the enterprise more attractive. There were other motives also which were not disagreeable, and of these, too, he made no mention.
“Well, promise me to be on your guard.”
“It all seems rather absurd, but I shall keep my eyes open. I may be very late to-morrow night. Tell Jack, and, by the way, if it is late, I shall have to keep your money until Friday evening, or Ellett can take it to you. Send me the draft to-night.”
“I have it with me”; and he handed it across the table.
“I think,” said Carington, “I would ignore the whole matter until I see you on Friday night. I would fish, as usual.”
“I think so.” He had asked advice and help, and this very decisive young man had certainly given it. “Thank you a thousand times,” he said, as he rose; “you have really relieved me,” and then he went away.
In his canoe he reflected a little on the mental peculiarity which made Anne and Carington prompt to conclude where he had been so tardy in reaching a decision. Anne had once said of him that his mind lacked wings, but was very sure on its legs. He reached home late, and rather weary. Anne said Rose had been told, and that Margaret had behaved admirably; also that the boys had no suspicion of the events which had distressed their elders.
The lives of men are lived under the limited monarchy of circumstance. Within this, men’s instincts and personal qualities—in a word, character—decide how they deal with the stringency of events, or meet the despotism of changeless natural laws.