"Oh, dear, no," said Marie, with unmistakable truthfulness, "HE did not say anything.But," with sudden inconsistent aggression, "is THAT the way you speak to Kitty of her uncle?"Really he didn't know--he was joking only, and he was afraid he must just now ask her to excuse him.He had received letters that made it possible that he might be called suddenly to New York at any moment.Marie stared.It was evident that he had proposed to Kitty and been rejected! But she was no nearer her discovery.
Nor was there the least revelation in the calm, half-bored, yet good-humored presence of the wicked uncle at dinner.So indifferent did he seem, not only to his own villainy but even to the loss it had entailed, that she had a wild impulse to take the ring from her pocket and display it on her own finger before him then and there.But the conviction that he would in some way be equal to the occasion prevented her.The dinner passed off with some constraint, no doubt emanating from the conscious Kitty and Gunn.Nevertheless, when they had returned to the drawing-room, Gabriel rubbed his hands expectantly.
"I prevailed on Sylvester this morning to promise to tell us some of his experiences--something COMPLETE and satisfactory this time.
Eh?"
Uncle Sylvester, warming his cold blood before the fire, looked momentarily forgetful and--disappointing.Cousins Jane and Emma shrugged their shoulders.
"Eh," said Uncle Sylvester absently, "er--er--oh yes! Well" (more cheerfully), "about what, eh?""Let it be," said Marie pointedly, fixing her black magnetic eyes on the wicked stranger, "let it be something about the DISCOVERY of gold, or a buried TREASURE HOARD, or a robbery."To her intense disgust Uncle Sylvester, far from being discomfited or confused, actually looked pleased, and his gray eyes thawed slightly.
"Certainly," he said."Well, then! Down on the San Joaquin River there was an old chap--one of the earliest settlers--in fact, he'd come on from Oregon before the gold discovery.His name, dear me!"--continued Uncle Sylvester, with an effort of memory and apparently beginning already to lose his interest in the story--"was--er--Flint."
As Uncle Sylvester paused here, Cousin Jane broke in impatiently.
"Well, that's not an uncommon name.There was an old carpenter here in your father's time who was called Flint.""Yes," said Uncle Sylvester languidly."But there is, or was, something uncommon about it--and that's the point of the story, for in the old time Flint and Gunn were of the same stock.""Is this a Californian joke?" said Gunn, with a forced smile on his flushed face."If so, spare me, for it's an old one.""It's much older HISTORY, Mr.Gunn," said Uncle Sylvester blandly, "which I remember from a boy.When the first Flint traded near Sault Sainte Marie, the Canadian voyageurs literally translated his name into Pierre a Fusil, and he went by that name always.But when the English superseded the French in numbers and language the name was literally translated back again into 'Peter Gunn,' which his descendants bear.""A labored form of the old joke," said Gunn, turning contemptuously away.
"But the story," said Cousins Jane and Emma."The story of the gold discovery--never mind the names.""Excuse me," said Uncle Sylvester, placing his hand in the breast of his coat with a delightful exaggeration of offended dignity.
"But, doubts having been cast upon my preliminary statement, I fear I must decline proceeding further." Nevertheless, he smiled unblushingly at Miss Du Page as he followed Gunn from the room.
The next morning those who had noticed the strained relations of Miss Kitty and Mr.Gunn were not surprised that the latter was recalled on pressing business to New York by the first train; but it was a matter of some astonishment to Gabriel Lane and Marie du Page that Uncle Sylvester should have been up early, and actually accompanied that gentleman as far as the station! Indeed, the languid explorer and gold-seeker exhibited remarkable activity, and, clad in a rough tourist suit, announced, over the breakfast-table, his intention of taking a long tramp through the woods, which he had not revisited since a boy.To this end he had even provided himself with a small knapsack, and for once realized Kitty's ideal of his character.
"Don't go too far," said Gabriel, "for, although the cold has moderated, the barometer is falling fast, and there is every appearance of snow.Take care you are not caught in one of our blizzards.""But YOU are all going on the lake to skate!" protested Uncle Sylvester.
"Yes; for the very reason that it may be our last chance; but should it snow we shall be nearer home than you may be."Nevertheless, when it came on to snow, as Gabriel had predicted, the skating party was by no means so near home as he had imagined.
A shrewd keenness and some stimulating electric condition of the atmosphere had tempted the young people far out on the lake, and they had ignored the first fall of fine grayish granulations that swept along the icy surface like little puffs of dust or smoke.
Then the fall grew thicker, the gray sky contracted, the hurrying flakes, dashed against them by a fierce northwester, were larger, heavier, and seemed an almost palpable force that held them back.