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Updated: June 19, 2025
There's Miss Cameron's fortune quite l-l-locked up, three per cents and exchequer bills; why, it might have been a mil-mil-million by this ti-ti-time, if the good old gentleman I beg pardon old old nobleman, my poor dear friend, had been now alive!" "Indeed!" said Lumley, greedily, and pricking up his ears; "he was a good manager, my uncle!" "None better, none better.
Many a worthy Christian, coming out of his or her place of worship, chuckled over the wit of this amiable husband, and observed, in the midst of laughter, that his wife, poor thing, had only got her deserts. In the earlier hours of that Sunday morning rumour had darted about, busily telling of the sudden freak the drunkard's violence had taken, and of Father Cameron's death.
Yes, I guess so I dunno but don't yeh do it, that's all. She's mine! Mine! D'yeh hear?" He stepped forward and thrust his snarling face into Cameron's. "No, I ain't goin' to touch yeh," as Cameron stepped back into a posture of defense, "not to-night. Some day, perhaps." Here again his teeth came together with a snap. "But I'm not going to have you or any other man cutting in on me with that girl.
His memory reverted to the time when, on an emigrant ship, he had made friends with the man Cameron who that day had died, and they had agreed to choose their place and cast in their lot together. It had been part of the agreement that the aunt who accompanied Bates should do the woman's work of the new home until she was too old, and that Cameron's child should do it when she was old enough.
True, Cameron had no means of getting inside the doctor's mind and therefore had no knowledge of the vision that came nightly to torment him in his dreams and the memory that came daily to haunt his waking hours; a vision and a memory of a trim little figure in a blue serge gown, of eyes brown, now sunny with laughing light, now soft with unshed tears, of hair that got itself into a most bewildering perplexity of waves and curls, of lips curving deliciously, of a voice with a wonderfully soft Highland accent; the vision and memory of Moira, Cameron's sister, as she had appeared to him in the Glen Cuagh Oir at her father's door.
The information was received with perfect indifference by most of the trappers, and with contemptuous laughter by some; for a large number of Cameron's men were wild, evil-disposed fellows, who would have as gladly taken the life of an Indian as that of a buffalo. Just as the word was given to resume the march, Dick Varley rode up to Cameron and said in a somewhat anxious tone,
Trail good," grunted Little Thunder, the red-rimmed eyes gleaming malevolently. "You go front me back." He waved his hand impatiently toward the trail. Following the direction of his hand, Cameron's eyes fell upon the stock of his own rifle protruding from a pack upon one of the ponies. For a moment the protruding stock held his eyes fascinated.
A long-forgotten sensation stirred in Cameron's breast, one so long forgotten that he could not recognize it. But it was akin to pain. When he awakened he found, to his surprise, that his companion had departed. A trail in the sand led off to the north. There was no water in that direction. Cameron shrugged his shoulders; it was not his affair; he had his own problems.
Cameron's money; saying it was for a widowed lady, whose husband had left her with very small means. And when Mrs. Cameron arrived with Lily, then a mere infant, she was in deep mourning, and a very young woman herself, pretty too.
Cameron there, sitting with the door locked, still at work at his desk?" was the next question. "He was not there. He had been called away." This was a new feature of the case, for Nestor had not considered Mr. Cameron's absence from the room as among the possibilities. "Was he out of the building?" he asked. Big Bob shook his head. "And while he was away you three entered with the false key?"
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