Hazel went out to the rail. Bill Wagstaff had disappeared, but
presently she caught sight of him standing on the shore end of the
wharf, his hands thrust deep in his coat pockets, staring after the
steamer. Hazel waved the envelope that she still held in her hand.
Now that she was independent of him, she felt magnanimous,
forgiving--and suddenly very much alone, as if she had dropped back
into the old, depressing Granville atmosphere. But he gave no
answering sign save that he turned on the instant and went up the hill
to where his horses stood tied among the huddled buildings. And within
twenty minutes the _Stanley D._ turned a jutting point, and Bella Coola
was lost to view.
Hazel went back into her stateroom and sat down on the berth.
Presently she opened the envelope. There was a thick fold of bills,
her ticket, and both were wrapped in a sheet of paper penciled with
dots and crooked lines. She laid it aside and counted the money.
"Heavens!" she whispered. "I wish he hadn't given me so much. I
didn't need all that."
For Roaring Bill had tucked a dozen one-hundred-dollar notes in the
envelope. And, curiously enough, she was not offended, only wishful
that he had been less generous.
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