eard the river," said Nasmyth. "In fact, I often hear it, and now
and then wish I didn't. It's unsettling."

Gordon laughed in a suggestive fashion. "Well," he declared, "most of
us hear something of that kind at times, and no doubt it's just as
well we do. It's apt to have results if you listen. You have been most
of a month in the city one way or another. You took to it kindly?"

"I didn't," Nasmyth answered, and it was evident that he was serious.
"I came back here feeling that I had had quite enough of it."

"Bonavista is a good deal more pleasant?" And there was a certain
meaning in Gordon's tone. "You seemed to have achieved some social
success here, too."

He saw the flush in Nasmyth's face, and his gaze grew insistent.
"Well," he said, "you're not going to let that content you, now you
can hear the river. You'll hear it more and more plainly frothing in
the black canyon where the big trees come down. You have lived with the
exiles, and the wilderness has got its grip on you. What's more, I
guess when it does that it never quite lets go."

He broke off abruptly, and just then Acton stepped out from the
window. "Mr. Gordon," he said, "it's my wife's wish that you should
come in and sing."

Gordon said that he was in Mrs. Acton's hands, and then turned to
Nasmyth.

"I've had my say," he observed. "If there's any meaning in my remarks,
you can worry it out."

He went away with Acton, and Wisbech looked at his nephew over his
cigar.

"Mr. Gordon expresses himself in a rather extravagant fashion, but I'm
disposed to fancy there is something in what he says," he commented.

Nasmyth did not answer him. He was, on the whole, glad that Gordon had
gone, but he still seemed to hear the river, and the restlessness that
had troubled him was becoming stronger. He retired somewhat early, but
he did not sleep quite so soundly as usual that night. As it happened,
Gordon rose before him next morning. Gordon went out of doors, and
presently came upon Miss Hamilton, who was strolling bareheaded where
the early sunshine streamed in among the pines. It struck him that he
was not the person whom she would have been most pleased to see, but
she walked with him to the crown of the promontory, where she stopped
and looked up at him steadily.

"Mr. Gordon," she inquired, "what is Laura Waynefleet?"

Gordon started, and the girl smiled.

"I crossed the veranda last night," she told him, when he hesitated
before answering he