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The yacht was beating north-east, close-hauled, into a stiff breeze from eastwards. No land was in sight only a few trawler sails and a squat, ugly tramp steamer flinging a pennant of black smoke to westwards. As the day wore on the wind rose steadily, and in the afternoon the watch turned out to reef sails. Matheson was an excellent sailor, and this tussle with the elements exhilarated him.
But the Andrews' had asked themselves, and she had not had the moral courage to tell them that the occasion was not for them. She was always getting Mark into difficulties, she penitently reflected, by her inability to say No, at the right time, and with the proper force, Mark could always say it, and stick to it smiling without giving offence. Mrs. Matheson was at the tea-table.
"Then write to Matheson what your heart will dictate to you," said Larssen gently. Presently he resumed: "Where is he now?" "At Nîmes." "Ah, yes the trial." "It should be finished to-day." "Then Matheson will probably be returning to London to see me. There's no need for him to hurry back. He could board the 'Starlight' at Boulogne or any other port he might prefer."
In some respects they were as unlike each other as two men could possibly be: in other respects their lives are like sister ships; they seem exactly alike. Especially do they resemble each other in their earliest religious experiences. We have heard Weaver's story: let us turn to Matheson's. Weaver, at the time of his conversion, was twenty-five: Matheson is twenty-two.
This was a three-masted schooner of 900 tons burden, the James William, which was built in the Matheson Yard, at New Glasgow, N.S. Steel vessels had, however, been built for lake service at Toronto, Collingwood, and Bridgeburg from 1898 onward. At Collingwood and Bridgeburg the largest and finest types of lake freighters and passenger vessels are built.
The letter that Arthur Dean was to post off at Cherbourg one to the Paris office of Clifford Matheson and one of similar purport to the London office would only need the signature in holograph. Larssen had several of Matheson's signatures on various letters that had passed between them, and these he cut off and gave to his employee to copy.
There was a lot of the brute about Adderley, apart from the fact that he had more money than was good for him. His culture was a veneer. It was his check-book that spoke all the time." "Everybody would have forgiven Adderley his vulgarity," said Dr. Matheson, quietly, "if the man's heart had been in the right place."
He had settled into a solitary bachelor life in a small Canadian college an unknown, unrecognized man and yet the calm, steady purpose and the calm, passionless happiness of the life had made a deep impression on Clifford Matheson. Rivière had come to an accidental death on a holiday with his brother in the wilds of northern Canada. Few knew of it beyond Matheson.
I might have held you for a little while ... and then." "You must think only of getting well again," he urged. "Don't try to buoy me up with false hopes. It is kind of you, dear; but I see things clearly now.... You came back to me, and I am content. I want rest now just rest." Presently her eyelids closed in sleep. Matheson sat watching by her bedside for a long while, holding her hand.
Would ye want yon radical bodies to take chairge o' ony business in which ye had a baubee? Ye're talkin' havers." "Now, let us look at the last," said Mr. Matheson. "It is practically a demand for the closed shop. Now, McNish, I ask you, man to man, what is the use of putting that in there? It is not even a negotiating point." At that McNish fired up. "It is no negotiating point," he declared.
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