Nasmyth, being a man of simple and, for the most part, wholesome ideas, was in a quandary. His feelings were generous, but he shrank from putting them into words. Moreover he was just and was not wholly convinced that the course he wished to recommend was right. "Well," he contended, "there are faithful hearts that never quite forget--with them the scar remains; but it's fortunate that the first keen pain does not last. Is it decent--I almost think that's the right word--to reopen the wound?" He paused and spread out one hand as if in expostulation. "Your late comrade has gone beyond your help; you told me he had left no relatives; and you have only yourself to consider. Can you do any good by bringing this sorrowful tale of disaster up again?" "Are you pleading for your English friends, anxious to save them pain at my expense? Can't you understand my longing to clear my dead partner's name?" A trace of color crept into Nasmyth's face. "I suppose I deserve that, though it wasn't quite the only thing I meant. I've an idea that you are somehow going to lay up trouble for yourself by persevering in this search." "I don't want to be offensive; but can't you see that by urging me to let the thing drop you are casting grave doubts upon the honor of a man of your own caste and kind, one with whom you are closely acquainted? Are you afraid to investigate, to look for proofs of Clarence Gladwyne's story?" Nasmyth looked him steadily in the eyes. "For the sake of one or two others, I think I am. Your belief in the guide, Vernon, has had its effect on me." "Then," said Lisle, "I have no fear of putting my belief to the test; I came up here for that purpose, and I mean to call upon you as my witness. As you said of George Gladwyne, the man I owe so much to never did a shabby thing. That he should have deserted a starving comrade is clean impossible!" "I suppose there's no help for it," responded Nasmyth, with a gesture of acquiescence. "We have said enough. Since you insist, I'll stand by my promise." The thudding of the ax ceased, and they heard Jake returning with the wood. Lisle set out the simple breakfast, and when they had eaten they launched the canoe and floated swiftly down the smooth green river all that day. They had accomplished the worst half of the journey; henceforward their way lay down-stream, and with moderate good fortune they need have no apprehension about safely reaching the settlements, but they were both silent and ill at ease. Lisle was consumed with fierce impatience; and Nasmyth shrank from what might shortly be revealed to him. Scarcely a word was spoken when they lay in camp that night.