ull vibration wove itself like the low murmur of invisible
multitudes. Whatever might be his own effort or labor, this still
reached him so often as he listened, as though it were a confused and
unending appeal for help that would not be silenced. It was always
there, compelling and well nigh immortal, and the persistent echo had
long since entered into his heart where it stirred pitifully day and
night. The bishop dropped on his knees and prayed that he might be
made worthy for his work.

There were two others to whom the voice of the rapids came clearly that
night as they sat on the edge of the judge's lawn. Belding was very
much in love. Months ago he perceived that Elsie was designed to be
some man's comrade, and for months he had been constantly aware of an
oval face and dark brown eyes. He saw them whenever he peered through
an instrument. But the only sign Elsie had given him was the
spontaneous kinship of youth with youth.

At the garden party there was little opportunity for talk and he had
eagerly accepted the judge's suggestion to spend the evening with them.
Now Elsie was beside him at the water's edge.

"I was up at the works again, with father, the other day. Aren't they
wonderful?" she said, after a long pause.

"Perhaps--I don't often think of them that way, though."

"What a difference in two years!"

"I suppose so." Belding was tired and he didn't want to talk shop.

"I met Mr. Clark again, and he was charming."

"Was he?"

She laughed. "I gathered from you at the garden party that he was a
woman hater."

"Did I say that?"

"Not exactly, but that he didn't care for women, he was too busy."

"He never mentioned one to me, except his mother."

"I can understand that," said Elsie very thoughtfully.

Belding felt a little restless. "You seem very interested."

"I am. I never met any one like him. He seems to be two men, or
several all rolled into one. You admire him, don't you?"

"Yes, tremendously, but he scares me a bit sometimes."

"Why?"

"I have wretched moments in which it seems that he is riding for a
fall. Things are going so fast, too fast sometimes--and besides, I'm
tired."

She glanced at him swiftly, but in the glance he caught nothing of what
he sought.

"If you're tired," she said slowly, "what about Mr. Clark? He's
carrying the whole thing, isn't he, as well as creating it? Is that
his piano in the blockhouse?"

The young man nodded.

"What does