Part 22 (1/2)

AGATHA PROVES OBDURATE

It was two days later when Agatha, coming back from a stroll across the prairie with the two little girls, found Mrs. Hastings awaiting her at the homestead door.

”I'll take the kiddies. Harry Wyllard's here, and he seems quite anxious to see you, though I don't know what he wants,” she said.

She flashed a searching glance at the girl, whose face, however, remained impa.s.sive. It was not often that Agatha's composure broke down.

”Don't wait,” she added, ”you had better go in this minute. Allen has been arguing with him the last half-hour, and can't get any sense into him. It seems to me the man's crazy; but he might, perhaps, listen to you.”

”I think that is scarcely likely,” replied Agatha.

Mrs. Hastings made a sign of impatience. ”Then,” she rejoined, ”it's a pity. Anyway, if he speaks to you about his project you can tell him that it's altogether unreasonable.”

She drew aside, and Agatha walked into the room in which she had had her painful interview with Gregory. Wyllard, who rose as she came in, stood quietly watching her.

”Nellie Hastings or her husband has been telling you what they think of my idea?” he said questioningly.

”Yes,” Agatha answered. ”Their opinion evidently hasn't much weight with you.”

”Haven't you a message for me?” he asked. ”You were sent to denounce my folly--and you can't do it. If you trusted your own impulses you would give me your benediction instead.” He smiled down at her.

Agatha, who was troubled with a sense of regret, saw a suggestive wistfulness in his face.

”No,” she said slowly, ”I can't denounce your folly, as they call your decision to go North. For one reason, I have no right of any kind to force my views on you.”

”You told Mrs. Hastings that?”

It seemed an unwarranted question, but the girl admitted the truth frankly.

”In one sense I did. I suggested that there was no reason why you should listen to me.”

Wyllard smiled again. ”Nellie and her husband are good friends of mine, but sometimes our friends are a little too officious. Anyway, it doesn't count. If you had had that right, you would have told me to go.”

Agatha felt the warm blood rise to her cheeks. It seemed to her that he had paid her a great and sincere compliment in taking it for granted that if she had loved him she would still have bidden him undertake his perilous duty.

”Ah,” she said, ”I don't know. Perhaps I should not have been brave enough.”

It was not a judicious answer. She realized that, but she felt that she must speak with unhesitating candor.

”After all,” she added, ”can you be quite sure that this is your duty?”

Wyllard kept his eye on her. ”No,” he said, ”I can't. In fact, when I sit down to think I can see at least a dozen reasons why it doesn't concern me. In a case of this kind that's always easy. It's just borne in upon me--I don't know how--that I have to go.”

Agatha crossed to the window and sat down. He leaned upon a chairback looking at her gravely.

”Well,” he continued, ”we'll go on a little further. It seems better that I should make what's in my mind quite clear to you. You see, Captain Dampier and I start in a week.”

Agatha was conscious of a shock of dismay.

”We may be back before the winter, but it's also quite likely that we may be ice-nipped before our work is through, and in that case it would be a year at least before we reach Vancouver,” he went on steadily after a little pause. ”In fact, there's a certain probability that all of us may leave our bones up there. Now, there's a thing I must ask you. Is it only a pa.s.sing trouble that stands between you and Gregory? Are you still fond of him?”