Guy Cameron was now convalescent, able to sit with his friends in the low, rustic porch, or even to join them in short strolls among the rocks by the lake. One afternoon they all sat in and about the porch, in the soft, hazy sunlight, the vines and shrubbery about them brilliant in their autumnal tints of crimson and orange and gold. The group was complete, with the exception of Mr. Cameron and Mr. Whitney, who still lingered within doors, engaged in drawing up some papers of which no one seemed to understand the import, excepting Houston, who had just left the gentlemen to join the group outside. It was a strikingly beautiful picture; Mrs. Cameron seated in the center, with her sweet face and snow-white hair, and on either side a lovely daughter. Near Lyle were seated Guy Cameron and Morton Rutherford,--between whom there already existed a deep affinity,---with their faces of remarkable strength and beauty. On the grass, just outside the porch, in various easy attitudes, were Ned Rutherford, Van Dorn and Lindlay, and it was noticeable that under the influence of late events, even Ned's boyish face was gradually assuming a far more mature and thoughtful expression. As Houston seated himself beside Leslie, both she and Lyle observed that his face was lighted with a smile of deep satisfaction, but he remained silent, and the conversation continued as before, the members of the little group engaged in anticipations of their return to their respective homes, and in comments upon this particular portion of the west with which they had become familiar. "Which will you love best, Jack, my dear," Lyle asked of Guy in low tones, using the old form of address still very dear to her, "the eastern home, or the mountains?" "My old home was never so dear to me as now," he replied, "but I am deeply attached to the mountains; for years they were my only friends, and I shall wish to look upon them occasionally in the future." "Well," Ned Rutherford was saying, "I wouldn't have thought it, but I've got so attached to this place out here, I'd like an excuse of some sort,--some kind of business, you know,--that would bring me here part of the time; what do you think, Mort?" "I think our associations here have had a great deal to do with the attractions of the place, but as a quiet retreat in which to spend a few weeks of each summer, I can not imagine a more delightful place." "Everard, of what are you thinking so deeply?" demanded Lyle, watching his thoughtful face, "you have not spoken a word since you came out." "I am thinking of the evening when first we had Mr. Lindlay and Mr. Van Dorn as guests in this house; thinking of the contrast between then and now; that was ushering in the close of the old regime, and this is the eve of the new." "When will the mines be reopened?" inquired Van Dorn. "Just as soon as possible after the rebuilding of the plant, next spring."