For a few days Winn Hardy was the busiest man on Rockhaven. What with
setting up the steam drill that had been sent him, finding a man to work
it, adjusting the derricks, and laying out work for the dozen men Jess
had secured, he had no more time than occasionally to think of who the
mysterious violin-playing maid might be. He arose early, worked late,
and evenings wrote his firm a detailed statement of his progress, or
discussed matters with Jess at the store. By tacit consent that had
become a sort of office for the Rockhaven Granite Company, and evening
lounging place for not only the men who were at work for Winn, but
others interested in the new enterprise, and, in fact, all who were not
away on fishing trips.

Here, also, Winn met the Rev. Jason Bush, a worthy, if attenuated,
parson and pedagogue, who had so astonished Winn that first Sunday and
who seemed more interested than any one else in the quarry. It was all
the more pleasant experience to Winn, thus to feel that he was bringing
a business blessing to these hard-working and needy people, and the
barometer of his hopes and spirits was at top notch when Friday came and
with it funds from the firm to pay the men. He felt, indeed, that his
mission was bearing excellent fruit.

Then, too, he received a letter of praise from his employers,
congratulating him on the progress he was making, and reminding him
that, as soon as advisable, he should endeavor to interest those who had
means and induce them to invest in Rockhaven stock. It was all right, of
course, and a part of his mission there; and Winn, guileless of the
cloven hoof hidden beneath it, assured himself that he must carry out
their wishes as soon as possible.

It was while speculating on this part of his duty the next afternoon,
and wondering who except Jess was likely to have money to invest in this
stock, that he felt an unaccountable impulse to visit the gorge again
and at once. It was as if some invisible voice was calling him and must
be answered, and yet he could not explain what it was and how his
thought, at that particular moment, had turned to this spot. He was not
a believer in fate; he was just an ambitious and practical young man,
with good common sense and wholesome ideas, and though a little
embittered by the treatment he had received at the hands of Ethel
Sherman and not likely to fall in love easily with another girl, yet he
was the last person who would admit that fate was playin