"You are sure?" "As sure as that I'm alive." "Well, I take the morning train for New York." "Lee," said Mr. Dinwiddie impressively, "take the advice of an old man, who has seen a good deal of men and women in his day, and stay where you are until you hear from Mary. Some sort of crisis has arisen, no use blinking the fact, but if you burst in on her now, while she is Madame Zattiany, encased in a new set of triple-plated armor, you may ruin all your chances of happiness. Whatever it is let her work it out--and off--by herself. I made her promise she would not leave the country without seeing you again--for I didn't know what might be in the wind--and when she had given her word she added that she had not the least intention of not seeing you again, and that it was quite possible she would return to the camp. If you go down you'll spoil everything." "I suppose I can trust you, Din, but I've seen plainly that you don't want me to marry her." "That is true enough. I want nothing less--for your sake; and Hohenhauer would be a far more suitable match for her. But I don't believe you even question my faith----" "No. I don't. You're a brick, Din. But I'm unspeakably worried--almost terrified. I have never felt that I really knew her. She may have only imagined--but that is impossible! How in God's name am I to sit round here for three days and twiddle my thumbs?" "Don't. Take one of the men and go off on a three days' tramp. Climb Mount Moose. That will give you no chance to think. All your thinking will be in your muscles." "And suppose she should return--or telegraph me to go to her?" "If she returns and finds you gone it'll serve her right. And she won't telegraph before Thursday--if she's going to Washington. Now take my advice and don't be a fool." Clavering shrugged his shoulders, but he set his lips. "Very well. I won't follow her. Nor will I forgive her in a hurry, either." "That's healthy. Give her a piece of your mind, have a good row, and then make it up. But let me tell you, my dear boy, that she was horrified at the thought of that man coming up here, and she only refrained from telling you of the summons, so to speak, because she wanted to spare you any anxiety. There's no doubt in my mind that she's as much in love with you as you are with her. . . . You have none, I suppose?" "None. Particularly lately. I hadn't told you, but I had intended, in a day or two, to ask you if you would let me have the camp for a few weeks. We intended to marry in Huntersville the day the rest of you went out."