Ranching for Sylvia | Page 7

some
people claim that they make the attack from duty, while I find a
positive pleasure in the thing."
"There's one consolation--you won't have much time for such
proceedings if you come with me. You'll have to work in Canada."
"I anticipated something of the sort," the lad rejoined. Then he grew
serious. "Have you decided who's to look after your affairs while you
are away? If you haven't, you might do worse than leave them to

Stephen. He's steady and safe as a rock, and, after all, the three per cent.
you're sure of is better than a handsome dividend you may never get."
"I can't give Herbert the go-by. He's the obvious person to do whatever
may be needful."
"I suppose so," Edgar assented, with some reluctance. "No doubt he'd
feel hurt if you asked anybody else; but I wish you could have got
Stephen."
He changed the subject; and when some of the others came up and
joined them, he resumed his humorous manner.
"I'm not asking for sympathy," he said, in answer to one remark. "I'm
going out to extend the bounds of the empire, strengthen the ties with
the mother country, and that sort of thing. It's one of the privileges that
seem to be attached to the possession of a temperament like mine."
"How will you set about the work?" somebody asked.
"With the plow and the land-packer," George broke in. "He'll have the
satisfaction of driving them twelve hours a day. It happens to be the
most effective way of doing the things he mentions."
Edgar's laughter followed him as he left the group.
After dinner that evening Herbert invited George into the library.
"Parker has come over about my lease, and his visit will save you a
journey," he explained. "We may as well get things settled now while
he's here."
George went with him to the library, where the lawyer sat at a
writing-table. He waited in silence while Herbert gave the lawyer a few
instructions. A faint draught flowed in through an open window, and
gently stirred the litter of papers; a shaded lamp stood on the table, and
its light revealed the faces of the two men near it with sharp
distinctness, though outside the circle of brightness the big room was

almost dark.
It struck George that his cousin looked eager, as if he were impatient to
get the work finished; but he reflected that this was most likely because
Herbert wished to discuss the matter of the lease. Then he remembered
with a little irritation what Ethel said during the afternoon. It was not
very lucid, but he had an idea that she meant to warn him; and Edgar
had gone some length in urging that he should leave the care of his
property to another man. This was curious, but hardly to be taken into
consideration, Herbert was capable and exact in his dealings; and yet
for a moment or two George was troubled by a faint doubt. It appeared
irrational, and he drove it out of his mind when Herbert spoke.
"The deed's ready; you have only to sign," he said, indicating a paper.
Then he added, with a smile: "You quite realize the importance of what
you are doing?"
The lawyer turned to George.
"This document gives Mr. Lansing full authority to dispose of your
possessions as he thinks fit. In accordance with it, his signature will be
honored as if it were yours."
Parker's expression was severely formal, and his tone businesslike; but
he had known George for a long while, and had served his father.
Again, for a moment, George had an uneasy feeling that he was being
warned; but he had confidence in his friends, and his cousin was
eminently reliable.
"I know that," he answered. "I've left matters in Herbert's hands on
other occasions, with fortunate results. Will you give me a pen?"
The lawyer watched him sign with an inscrutable face, but when he laid
down the pen, Herbert drew back out of the strong light. He was
folding the paper with a sense of satisfaction and relief.
CHAPTER III

A MATTER OF DUTY
On the evening before George's departure, Sylvia stood with him at the
entrance to the Brantholme drive. He leaned upon the gate, a
broad-shouldered, motionless figure; his eyes fixed moodily upon the
prospect, because he was afraid to let them dwell upon his companion.
In front, across the dim white road, a cornfield ran down to the river,
and on one side of it a wood towered in a shadowy mass against a soft
green streak of light. Near its foot the water gleamed palely among
overhanging alders, and in the distance the hills faded into the grayness
of the eastern sky. Except for the low murmur of