Part 36 (1/2)

He broke off for a moment, and waved his hand. ”After all,” he added, ”what right have you to think it now?”

Mrs. Hastings laughed somewhat harshly. ”Unfortunately, I have my eyes, but I'll admit that there's a certain obligation on me to make quite certain before going any further. That's why I want you to ascertain where he checked his baggage to.”

”I'm afraid that's more than I'm willing to undertake. Do you consider it advisable to set the station agent wondering about the thing?

Besides, once or twice in my career appearances have been rather badly against me, and I'm not altogether convinced yet.”

Mrs. Hastings let the matter drop, and they went back rather silently to the hotel. As soon as supper was past, Mrs. Hastings bade Sproatly get their wagon out and she drove away with Agatha. During the long, cold journey she said very little to the girl, and they had no opportunity of private conversation when they reached the homestead where they were to spend the night. Agatha hated herself for the thought in her mind, but everything seemed to warrant it, and it would not be driven out. She had heard what Gregory had called Sally at the hotel, and the fact that he must have bought his ticket and checked his baggage earlier in the afternoon when there was n.o.body about, so that he could run down with Sally at the last moment, evidently in order to escape observation, was very significant.

The two women went home next day, and on the following morning a man, who was driving in to Lander's, brought Mrs. Hastings a note from Sproatly. It was very brief, and ran:

”Gregory arrived same night by Pacific train. It is evident he must have got off at the next station down the line.”

Mrs. Hastings showed it to her husband.

”I'm afraid we have been too hasty. What am I to do with this?” she said.

Hastings smiled. ”Since you ask my advice, I'd put it into the stove.”

”But it clears the man. Isn't it my duty to show it to Agatha?”

”Well,” said Hastings reflectively, ”I'm not sure that it is your duty to put ideas into her mind when you can't be quite certain that she has entertained them.”

”I should be greatly astonished if she hadn't,” answered Mrs. Hastings.

Hastings made an expressive gesture. ”Oh,” he remarked, ”you'll no doubt do what you think wisest. When you come to me for advice you have usually made up your mind, and you merely expect me to tell you that you're right.”

Mrs. Hastings thought over the matter for another hour or two. For one thing, Agatha's quiet manner puzzled her, and she did not know that the girl had pa.s.sed a night in agony of anger and humiliation, and had then become conscious of a relief of which she was ashamed. There was, however, no doubt that while Agatha blamed herself in some degree for what had happened, she did feel as if a weight had been lifted from her heart. She was sitting alone in a shadowy room watching the light die off the snowy prairie outside, when Mrs. Hastings came softly in and sat down beside her.

”My dear,” said Mrs. Hastings, ”it's rather difficult to speak of, but that little scene at the station must have hurt you.”

Agatha looked at her quietly and searchingly, but there was only sympathy in her face, and she leaned forward impulsively.

”Oh!” she exclaimed, ”it hurt me horribly, because I feel it was my fault. I was the cause of it!”

”How could that be?”

”If I had only been kinder to Gregory he would, perhaps, never have thought of that girl. I must have made it clear that he jarred upon me. I drove him”--Agatha turned her face away, while her voice trembled--”into that woman's arms. No doubt she was ready to make the most of the opportunity.”

Mrs. Hastings thought that the girl's scorn and disgust were perfectly natural, even though, as it happened, they were not quite warranted.

”In the first place,” she suggested, ”I think you had better read this note.”

Agatha took the note, and there was light enough left to show that the blood had crept into her face when she laid it down again. For almost a minute she sat very still.

”It is a great relief to know that I was wrong--in one respect, but you must not think I hated this girl because Gregory had preferred her to me,” she said at last. ”When the first shock had pa.s.sed, there was an almost horrible satisfaction in feeling that he had released me--at any cost. I suppose I shall always be ashamed of that.”

She broke off a moment, and her voice was very steady when she went on again:

”Still, what Sproatly says does not alter the case so much after all. It can't free me of my responsibility. If I hadn't driven him, Gregory would not have gone to her.”