"And yet you take your father's part?" he said.

"Of course," said Alton simply. "What would any son do? But it seems
to me there might be a little allowance for my grandfather, too, and I
think he and my father have fixed up that quarrel long ago."

"They are both dead," said the girl with a little curiosity.

"Yes," said Alton, "and they kept their word, and died unyielding.
Well, I think they were each right from their way of looking at the
thing, and that being so they could only do what they did, and would
respect each other for it when they meet where the long trail ends. My
father was right in holding to the woman who loved him, and I think
Tristan Alton knew it when he left Carnaby to me."

Miss Deringham seemed thoughtful. The man's grim code of honour,
inflexible as it was primitive, caused her, for no apparent reason,
indefinite misgivings, and she made a little gesture of weariness. "I
think," she said, "it would be better if we did not talk of Carnaby,
and I was wondering if it would be possible to catch a trout if there
is a little more wind presently."

This was scarcely a correct rendering of her thoughts, for she was in
reality desirous of ascertaining whether the man would, to afford her
pleasure, thrust his work aside.

"Well," he said eagerly, "I shouldn't wonder if it would. Now, there's
the planer to fix up, but that could wait a little, and--but here's
someone coming!"