At last, I could stand the strain no longer. I went down with some food and drink for him and in the hope that I would be able to pacify him and comfort him in his loss. But the moment I opened the door, he tore out, as if possessed, down on to the beach and into the water. Out, out he went, in the direction the steamer had gone the day before. I got into Jake's boat and followed him as quickly as I could, but we were a long way out before I got up with him,--swimming strongly, gamely, almost viciously; on,--on,--heading for the Ghoul Rock and for the cross-currents at the open sea. I reached alongside him, but always he sheered away. I spoke to him kindly and coaxingly, but all I got from him in reply was a whimpering sob, as if to say:-- "Oh! you are only a human: how can you understand?" I succeeded in catching hold of him and I lifted him into the boat. He struggled out of my grasp back into the water. Three times I brought him in and three times he broke from me and plunged into the sea, swimming always out and out. I had not the heart to trouble him any more. After all, what right had I to interfere? What right had I to try to go between the soul of a man and the soul of a dog? "God speed!--you brave, old, lion-hearted Mike. God speed!" I cried. "Go to him. You were two of a kind. May you soon catch up with him, and may both of you be happy." CHAPTER XXIII The Fight in the Woods I did not engage any one to fill Jake's place, for I felt that no man really could fill it. In any case, with the approach of the wet, wintry weather, the work at Golden Crescent diminished. I did not have the continuous supplies to make ready for the Camps, such as they demanded in the summer months. When they called, they generally took away enough to last them over several weeks. Again, Jake had cut, sawn and stacked all my winter supply of firewood long before he took sick. Taking all these things into consideration, I decided I would go through the winter, at least, without fresh help. Mary Grant and Mrs. Malmsbury still remained at the cottage over the way. Often I asked Mary,--almost in dread,--if she were going away during the stormier months, but she always said she had not made any arrangements so far. Not once, but many times, I tried to break through the reserve which she had hedged round herself ever since our evening in the lagoon after our first fishing experience when we had drawn so near in sympathy to each other. I felt afraid lest I should forget myself some time and tell her all that was in my heart craving to be told, for something kept whispering to me that, if I did, I might lose her altogether. Rita's lessons went on apace. Twice a week she came over in the evenings for instruction. She was quickly nearing the point where I would be of no further service, for I had imparted to her almost all I was capable of imparting in the way of actual grammar.