For the Allinson Honor by Harold Bindloss — Read

It was late at night when Andrew entered Watson's office at the mine with the letters he had brought. Though a bitter wind blew the snow about it, the little wooden building was hot and filled with the smell of pine boarding. A stove, glowing a dull red, stood at one end, and a kerosene lamp hanging from a beam threw a bright light on the faces of the men. They were eager and expectant, but Andrew's bore the stamp of fatigue, for the journey up-river had tried his strength. Moreover, he shrank from learning what the smelting company's report might reveal. Drawing a chair to the table, he sat for a few moments lost in troubled thought.

When he first reached the mine he had found a keen and scarcely expected pleasure in his work. Its difficulties seized his interest, and for a while he enjoyed the grapple with them. Then misgivings crept in; he felt that there was something wrong. Watson displayed no enthusiasm about the Company's prospects, and Carnally let fall disturbing hints. Andrew, however, steadily occupied himself with his task, which gained a stronger hold on him, until he realized that all his mind was bent upon its successful accomplishment. Now he must put his half-formed plans and surmises to a searching test. Bracing himself, he opened a large sealed envelope with a steady hand.