"Yes," he said. "It's a stern country and one has much to bear; but it
calls. One fears the hardships, cold, and danger--but one goes."

Agatha looked up quietly, but he noted the gleam in her eyes.

"You _know_! Well, you can imagine what it cost my father to resist the
call, but he did resist for many years. He loved my mother, but I think
he hated the growing town; then there was the dream of riches that might
be his. He was not greedy, and my brother did not need money. George had
a talent for business and his employers soon promoted him; but I was
fond of science, and it was my father's ambition that I should make
independent researches and not be forced to work for pay."

She hesitated, and then went on: "Perhaps I am boring you, but I wanted
you to understand what his duty must have cost. You see, you only knew
him in the bush, and after he went back I noted a difference in his
letters. They were sometimes strange; he seemed to be hiding things. I
think he felt the disappointment keenly and lost heart."

Thirlwell saw she suspected something, and replied: "Disappointment is
often numbing; but your father never lost his faith in the lode."

"Nor have I lost mine," said Agatha. "But we will not talk about that
yet. He brought us up and started us well; then my mother died, and
nobody had any further claim on him. His duty was done, and though he
was getting old, he went back to the North. Well, I have told you part
of his story, and you know the rest."

"It is a moving tale," said Thirlwell, with quiet sympathy.