"The warning's too late," said Agatha in a curious quiet voice. "The
infatuation has got hold of me, but one must follow one's bent, and life
is tame if one does nothing that is not prudent and safe. Besides,
romantic dreams sometimes come true."

"Not often," said Thirlwell dryly. "But why do you really want to go?"

"The silver is mine; my father gave it me. It looked as if my brother
would prosper without his help, and I think he loved me best. Perhaps
this was because I believed in the vein."

Thirlwell shook his head. "I cannot think you greedy."

"Then," said Agatha with a flush of color, "if you must have the truth,
I feel I must finish my father's work. His son and his best friends
thought him the victim of his imagination and the lode a joke; but if I
succeed, his dreams will be justified."

Thirlwell said nothing for a minute or two; he saw that she was resolute
and was moved by her staunch loyalty. After all, Strange's story was not
uncommon; Thirlwell had known men leave work and home to follow an
elusive clue to mineral treasure in the barren solitudes. Some had come
back broken in fortune and courage, and some had not come back at all.
Then while he mused the harsh cry of the loon rang through the dark. It
fired his blood, and unconsciously he fixed his eyes on the North, for
in summer the birds of the lakes and rivers push on towards the Pole. He
had done his duty and tried to persuade the girl, but after all she was
stronger and finer than Strange. It was possible that she might succeed,
and he could help.