The Intriguers | Page 8

smiled as Millicent came toward her with a few of the small
children clustered round her.
"I have some English letters to write," she said; "and I think we'll go
in."
The Challoners did not leave for the West the next day. About an hour
before sunset they leaned upon the rails of a wooden gallery built out

from the rock on the summit of the green mountain that rises close
behind Montreal. It is a view-point that visitors frequent, and they
gazed with appreciation at the wide landscape. Wooded slopes led
steeply down to the stately college buildings of McGill and the rows of
picturesque houses along Sherbrook Avenue; lower yet, the city,
shining in the clear evening light, spread across the plain, dominated by
its cathedral dome and the towers of Notre Dame. Green squares with
trees in them checkered the blocks of buildings; along its skirts, where
a haze of smoke hung about the wharves, the great river gleamed in a
broad silver band. On the farther bank the plain ran on again, fading
from green to gray and purple, until it melted into the distance, and the
hills on the Vermont frontier cut, faintly blue, against the sky.
"How beautiful this world is!" Challoner exclaimed. "I have seen
grander sights, and there are more picturesque cities than Montreal--I'm
looking forward to showing you the work of the Moguls in India--but
happiness such as I've had of late casts a glamour over everything. It
wasn't always so with me; I've had my bad hours when I was blind to
beauty."
Though Blanche Challoner was very young, and much in love, she
ventured a smiling rebuke.
"You shouldn't wish to remember them; I'm afraid, Bertram, there's a
melancholy strain in you, and I don't mean to let you indulge in it.
Besides, how could you have had bad hours? You have been made
much of, and given everything you could wish for, since you were a
boy. Indeed, I sometimes wonder how you escaped from being
spoiled."
"When I joined the army, I hated it; that sounds like high treason,
doesn't it? However, I got used to things, and made art my hobby
instead of my vocation. You won't mind if I confess that a view of this
kind makes me long to paint?"
"Oh, no; I intend to encourage you. You mustn't waste your talent.
When we stay among the Rockies we will spend the days in the most
beautiful places we can find, and I shall take my pleasure in watching

you at work. But didn't your fondness for sketching amuse the mess?"
"I used to be chaffed about it, but I repaid my tormentors by
caricaturing them. On the whole, they were very good-natured."
"I am sure they admired the drawings; they ought to have done so,
anyway. You have talent. Indeed, I never quite understood why you
became a soldier."
"I think it was from a want of moral courage; you have seen that
determination is not among my virtues. If you knew my father very
well, you would understand. Though he's fond of pictures, he looks
upon artists and poets as a rather effeminate and irresponsible set, and I
must admit that he has met one or two unfavorable specimens. Then, he
couldn't imagine the possibility of a son of his not being anxious to
follow the family profession; and, knowing how my defection would
grieve him, I let him have his way. There has always been a Challoner
fighting or ruling in India since John Company's time."
"They must have been fine men, by their portraits. There's one of a
Major Henry Challoner I fell in love with. He was with Outram, wasn't
he? You have his look, though there's a puzzling difference. I think
those men were bluffer and blunter than you are. You're gentler and
more sensitive; in a way, finer drawn."
"My sensitiveness has not been a blessing," said Challoner soberly.
"But it makes you lovable," Blanche declared. "There must have been a
certain ruthlessness about those old Challoners which you couldn't
show. After all, their pictures suggest that their courage was of the
unimaginative, physical kind."
A shadow crept into Challoner's face, but he banished it.
"I am happy in having a wife who won't see my faults." Then he added
humorously: "After all, however, that's not good for one."
Blanche gave him a tender smile; but he did not see it, for he was

gazing at a man who came down the steps from the neighboring cable
railway. The newcomer was about thirty years old, of average height,
and strongly made. His face was deeply sunburned and he had eyes of a
curious dark blue, with a twinkle in them, and dark lashes, though his
hair was fair. As he