RDING STRIKES OIL

CHAPTER I

THE BLAKE AFFAIR

It was a fine morning and Mrs. Keith sat with a companion, enjoying the
sunshine, near the end of Dufferin Avenue, which skirts the elevated
ground above the city of Quebec. Behind her rose the Heights of
Abraham where the dying Wolfe wrested Canada from France; in front,
churches, banks, offices and dwellings, curiously combining the old and
the very new, rose tier on tier to the great red _Frontenac_ hotel, at
which she was staying. It is a picturesque city that climbs back from
its noble river; supreme, perhaps, in its situation among Canadian
towns, and still retaining something of the exotic stamp set upon it by
its first builders whose art was learned in the France of long ago.

From where she sat Mrs. Keith could not see the ugly wooden wharves.
Her glance rested on the flood that flowed towards her, still and deep,
through a gorge lined with crags and woods, and then, widening rapidly,
washed the shores of a low, green island. Opposite her white houses
shone on the Levis ridge, and beyond this a vast sweep of country,
steeped in gradations of colour that ended in ethereal blue, rolled
away towards the hills of Maine. Quebec was then filled with
distinguished guests. British royalty had visited it, with many who
belonged to the great world in London and some who aspired to do so.
Canada had become fashionable, and in addition to English folk of
station, Westerners and Americans of note had gathered in the ancient
city. The ceremonies were over, but the company had not all dispersed.

The two ladies were elderly. They had played their part in the drama
of life, one of them in a strenuous manner, and now they were content
with the position of lookers on. So far, however, nothing had occurred
since breakfast to excite their interest, and by and by Mrs. Keith
turned to her companion with characteristic briskness.

"I think I'll go to Montreal by the special boat to-night," she said.
"The hotel's crowded, the town's full, and you keep meeting people whom
you know or have heard about. I came here to see Canada, but find it
hard to realize that I'm not in London; I'm tired of the bustle."

Mrs. Ashborne smiled. She had met Margaret Keith by chance in Quebec,
but their acquaintance was of several years' standing.

"Tired?" she said. "That is surely a new sensation for you. I've
often envied you your energy."

Age had touched Mrs. Keith lightly, t