It was Saturday evening, clear and cold, though the frost was not intense. A number of the farmers and their wives had driven in to Sebastian to meet their friends and make their weekly purchases. A row of light rigs stood outside the livery-stable, voices and laughter rose from the sidewalks; the town looked cheerful and almost picturesque with its roofs and tall elevator towers cutting against the soft night sky.

A full moon hung above them, but its silvery radiance was paled by other lights. Warm gleams shone out from the store windows upon the hard-trodden snow; a train of lighted cars stood at the station, and the intense white glare of the head-lamp mingled with the beam flung far across the prairie by a freight locomotive on a side-track. Groups of people strolled up and down the low platform, waiting to see the train go out, and their voices rang merrily on the frosty air. From one of the great shadowy elevators there came a whirr of wheels.

When the train rolled away into the wilderness, Muriel Hurst entered the hotel and went upstairs to the parlor where Colston and her sister were sitting. The room was furnished in defective taste, but it was warm and brightly lighted, and the girl had got accustomed to the smell of warm iron diffused by the stove and the odor of burning kerosene. Colston occupied an easy-chair, and when Muriel took off her furs he looked up with a smile, 207 noticing the fine color the nipping air had brought into her face. She looked braced and vigorous, but it struck him that she wore a thoughtful expression.

“Did you buy all you wanted?” he asked.

“I got what I came for.” Muriel sat down and handed her sister a parcel. “I think that ought to match. Has Harry been lounging there since supper? Isn’t he the picture of comfortable laziness?”

Colston laughed. He was still very neatly dressed, but he looked harder than he had when he first reached the prairie and his face was brown.

“I’m content, and that’s a great thing,” he rejoined. “Indeed, I’ll confess that I could enjoy our stay here, except for the damping effect of our friends’ trouble. It’s astonishing how little one misses the comforts we insist on in England, and I’m coming to take an interest in the visits we pay among the ranches and our weekly trip to Sebastian. Then nobody could maintain that your sister looks any the worse for her experience. I’m beginning to think she might pass for a wheat-grower’s wife.”

“I heard Mrs. Johnson ask when you were going to take a farm,” Muriel retorted. “It would be difficult to imagine you tramping down a furrow behind a plow or driving one of those smelly gasoline tractors; but you’ll be able to pose before your constituents as an authority on colonial questions when you go home.”

“I’m afraid they’ll throw me over unless they see me soon; but there’s nothing else to take me back, and I’d feel we were deserting our friends in their distress.”

“We can’t leave them yet,” Mrs. Colston broke in. “The suspense is preying upon Jernyngham. He’s getting dangerously moody; I know Gertrude feels anxious about him.” 208

A curious expression crept into Muriel’s eyes.

“Believing what he does, it’s natural that he should clamor for justice, but he’s becoming possessed by a feverish cruelty. It’s mastering him, destroying his judgment.”

“You’re alluding to his suspicions of Prescott?”

Muriel’s eyes sparkled as she took up the challenge.

“You know as well as I do that they’re altogether wrong! It’s impossible that he should be guilty!”

“One would like to think so,” her sister responded with dry reserve. “But it’s a pity he ran away.”

Muriel could not deny this. She had retained her faith in Prescott, but his silence about the motive for an absence that must tell against him troubled her. It was strange that he had given her no hint, and she felt hurt.

“He may have gone because he could not bear to be distrusted,” she said. “You are both sorry for Jernyngham, but don’t you think the man he unjustly suspects deserves some pity?”

“Well,” said Colston, “I’ve tried to keep an open mind. Prejudice, of course, should not be pandered to; but one is as likely to be led astray by too strong a partiality for the suspected person.” He paused before he added: “However, I envy you your confidence; I liked the man.”

“The worst of it is that the matter may go dragging on until it wears Gertrude and her father out,” Mrs. Colston remarked. “It would be a relief in some ways to learn the truth, however bad it is.”

“Mr. Prescott has no reason to dread the truth’s coming out,” said Muriel staunchly.

Then a maid came in to announce that their team was ready, and, putting on her furs, Muriel went down in advance 209 of the others to see that her purchases had been placed together. After she had gone, Mrs. Colston looked at her husband.

“I think it would be advisable to mention Prescott as seldom as possible.”

“So do I,” Colston agreed. “I wonder whether you have noticed anything unusual in the relations between Muriel and Gertrude of late? They used to be good friends in England.”

“I have remarked some signs of strain. But it is not a matter you could be expected to take an interest in.”

“Of course,” Colston rejoined deprecatingly, and went down with his wife.

Leslie’s team and a smart sleigh, which Jernyngham had had sent out from Toronto, stood at the door, and after he had helped his wife and Muriel in, Colston took the reins. When they had jolted across the track, the snow was beaten smooth along the trail; the team was fresh after resting, and it was a brilliant night. They set off at an exhilarating speed, and though their faces tingled they kept warm beneath their furs and driving-robes. Far in front of them spread the prairie, gleaming white beneath the moon; no cloud stained the vault of soft deep blue, and the drumming of the hoofs rang out in merry rhythm. The crisp cold, which was less marked than usual, stirred the blood.

They passed a buggy, drawn by a good horse, and later a light wagon, for the snow does not, as a rule, lie deep on the western prairie and the farmers largely continue the use of wheels. After that for some time they were alone on the waste, until as they approached a tract of broken country a wagon appeared on the crest of a rise, with the double span of horses in front of it cutting sharply black 210 against the snow. It came on slowly, heavily loaded with bags of grain, and then the dark shape of a man who walked beside the team grew visible. As they came closer, Colston turned his horses out of the trail to let the wagon pass, and then started as the moonlight fell on the teamster’s face. It was Prescott.

For a moment he hesitated, and then pulled up, acknowledging the man’s greeting with a lifted hand. Mrs. Colston, however, said nothing, and Prescott stood quietly by his horses’ heads, until Muriel called him forward and gave him her hand.

“When did you get back?” she asked.

“Late last night. We broke the wheat bin this morning, and I’m taking the first load in.”

“But where were you?”

“In Alberta and British Columbia most of the time.”

He volunteered no further information and there was an awkward pause, for Prescott had noticed that Colston had been undecided whether to drive on or not. Mrs. Colston sat farthest from him, so that he could not see her, but she had not addressed him yet. It was clear that his appearance had affected them unpleasantly.

“When we next meet, you must tell us about your trip,” said Muriel.

“We should be interested to hear about it,” Colston added lamely, and Prescott forced a smile. Muriel was the only one who had treated him on the old friendly footing; and he could hardly visit the Leslie homestead, even if he were invited, while Jernyngham was there.

“I may see you some time, and I mustn’t keep you now,” he responded.

He started his team, and Colston turned to his companions. 211

“I’ll confess that I’ve had a great surprise.”