Craig's manner with me was
solemn enough. '"He that loveth his life"; good-bye, don't fool with
this,' was what he said to me. But when he turned to Graeme his whole
face lit up. He took him by the shoulders and gave him a little shake,
looking into his eyes, and saying over and over in a low, sweet tone--
'You'll come, old chap, you'll come, you'll come. Tell me you'll come.'
And Graeme could say nothing in reply, but only looked at him. Then they
silently shook hands, and we drove off. But long after we had got
over the mountain and into the winding forest road on the way to the
lumber-camp the voice kept vibrating in my heart, 'You'll come, you'll
come,' and there was a hot pain in my throat.
We said little during the drive to the camp. Graeme was thinking hard,
and made no answer when I spoke to him two or three times, till we came
to the deep shadows of the pine forest, when with a little shiver he
said--
'It is all a tangle--a hopeless tangle.'
'Meaning what?' I asked.
'This business of religion--what quaint varieties--Nelson's, Geordie's,
Billy Breen's--if he has any--then Mrs.
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