--as they did so often indeed--to the voyage of the 'Fulvia', and then to
Mrs. Falchion's presence in the Rocky Mountains. There was a strange
destiny in it all, and I had no pleasant anticipations about the end;
for, even if she could or did do Roscoe no harm, so far as his position
was concerned, I saw that she had already begun to make trouble between
him and Ruth.

That day which saw poor Boldrick's death put her in a conflicting light
to me. Now I thought I saw in her unusual gentleness, again an unusual
irony, an almost flippant and cruel worldliness; and though at the time
she was most touched by the accident, I think her feeling of horror at it
made her appear to speak in a way which showed her unpleasantly to Mr.
Devlin and his daughter. It may be, however, that Ruth Devlin saw
further into her character than I guessed, and understood the strange
contradictions of her nature. But I shall, I suppose, never know
absolutely about that; nor does it matter much now.

The day succeeding Phil's death was Sunday, and the little church at
Viking was full. Many fishers had come over from Sunburst. It was
evident that people expected Roscoe to make some reference to Phil's
death in his sermon, or, at least, have a part of the service
appropriate. By a singular chance the first morning lesson was David's
lamentation for Saul and Jonathan. Roscoe had a fine voice. He read
easily, naturally--like a cultivated layman, not like a clergyman; like a
man who wished to convey the simple meaning of what he read, reverently,
honestly. On the many occasions when I heard him read the service,
I noticed that he never changed the opening sentence, though there were,
of course, others from which to choose. He drew the people to their feet
always with these words, spoken as it were directly to them: