"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 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 pa.s.sed 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 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 pa.s.s, 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.

"I'll confess that I've had a great surprise."

"Of course, you imagined that Mr. Prescott had gone for good!" said Muriel with scorn.

"I'm afraid I had some idea of that nature. He would hardly have come back if he were guilty."

"Oh," said Muriel mockingly, "you really can't tell what an unscrupulous, bold man might do."

"Spare me," Colston begged with a laugh. "After all, it looks as if you have been right." He turned to his wife. "What do you think?"

"Mr. Prescott's guilt or innocence is a question I can't decide; but in making us believe he was Cyril Jernyngham he did a very wrong and foolish thing. That Cyril may have urged him to do so is no excuse."

"Leaving Mr. Prescott out, I think Cyril's idea was a very generous one,"

Muriel declared.

"How can you believe that?"

"He must have wished to save his father and sister pain, and he knew the trick would cost him a good deal. For one thing, it would prevent his going home to be reinstated, because of course if he had done so, we would have seen he was not the man we had met in Canada. He meant to stay here, refusing to benefit by the change in his affairs, out of consideration for his relatives."

"And you approve his pa.s.sing off this western farmer for a Jernyngham?"

Mrs. Colston asked.

"Oh, that!" Muriel's laugh was scornful. "You were satisfied with the man until you knew his name was Prescott. How was it that you didn't miss the inherent superiority of the Jernynghams? Besides, I can't think Cyril suffered by getting his friend to represent him. Though people won't talk very freely, I've picked up some information since I've been here, enough to show what kind of man Cyril was. He hadn't much to boast of, and one must do him the justice to admit that he seems to have recognized it. You probably know, though you hid it from me, that on the evening he should have met us he was lying in the hotel after getting badly hurt in a drunken brawl among some riotous Orangemen."

"I can't have any reflections cast upon Orangemen," Colston objected.

"There are a large number in my const.i.tuency; most worthy people, for whom I've a strong respect."

"You have a respect for their votes, you mean," Muriel rejoined. "You know you're really ritualistic High Church. If your const.i.tuents knew as much about St. Cuthbert's as I do, they would turn you out."

"I have never hid my convictions," Colston declared. "Anyway, I have ascertained that the greater proportion of the Orangemen were sober."

"Then," retorted Muriel, "I'm sorry that Cyril was not. But there are more important points to consider."

"That is very true," said Mrs. Colston. "Will you tell Jernyngham that we have seen Prescott, Harry?"

Colston hesitated.

"No; I don't think so. I'm afraid of the effect it may have on him; and he won't be up when we get in. All the same, he's bound to hear the news from somebody else very soon."

Neither of the others answered, and they drove on in silence until the lights of the Leslie homestead blinked across the snow. The cheerfulness which had marked the party when they set out had gone; they felt a sense of constraint, and Muriel wondered uneasily whether she had spoken with too much freedom.

The next morning they were sitting with Jernyngham and Gertrude when a neighboring rancher came in.

"I thought Leslie might be here," he explained. "Don't mean to intrude."