There was plenty of time, and so they all had breakfast. After that they returned to the Duckling, where Marvin committed to the Scotchman both the launch and the tent, the one to be delivered in due time to its owner, the other to be struck for the present but pitched again when the camper should return. The doctor smiled at the adventure and went with them to see the traveler off. Marvin sat silent beside the Scotchman, but he could hear behind him the laughing voice of the girl he loved. She was utterly different from the stranger he had tried to fathom the night before. With exquisite swiftness she met every thought of the Red Leaf and of the old scholar, combining with them both. At the foot of the rapids all the party except her said good-by and waited in the launch. But she walked up with him to the station and stood waiting while the train approached from the west, advancing through mid-air against the blue sky and above the white foam. “Ojeeg’s affairs will proceed as planned.” “Won’t it be splendid! The Little Pine will be off to school before you get back from England. Sometime, several years from now, you must come back to us and see how he has grown.” He took her hand, and the warm electric mystery flowed through them. “Jean,” said he softly, “you ought to melt right now.” She shook her head, her eyes brimming with tears. Chapter 56. Barium Naturally the thwarted man’s first days at sea were passed in heavy mood, but nothing could alter his determination to win her sooner or later. And nothing could deprive him of the silent comfort of the sea. Its general color was grimly dark, but near the prow it was like a low-flying bird, all springtime beryl and celestite. A little farther out it became translucent olivine. On it the sunlight played in rainbows, touching the foam into pink calcite or winy fluorspar. By and by he sought the ship’s doctor and had his heart examined. It proved to be normal again, but as he continued to ask questions about heart disease, the physician referred him to a work by one Sir Clifford. Just now Sir Clifford was taking care of a certain famous old baron who was about to die. The heart of Lord Fortinbras had served him well, but was worn out. Had Mr. Mahan ever read Lord Fortinbras’ book of travel—the one based on the log of his yacht? Mr. Mahan never had, but would do so. The fact was that Mr. Mahan’s instructions were sending him post-haste to get the signature of that same old baron before it was secured by death or a Chicago lawyer named Brinkerhoff. He had never seen a lord. He had been advised by Dr. Rich to be a good lord himself, but that was a figure of speech having no reference to lords terrestrial. He had small doubt that when he should come to address a baron he should make a fool of himself.