Part 42 (1/2)

”Then you mean to make her understand what he is doing?”

”No,” replied Mrs. Hastings; ”I want you to do it. I've reasons for believing that your influence would go further with her than mine. For one thing, I fancy she is feeling rather ashamed of herself.”

Agatha looked thoughtful. She had certainly not credited Sally with possessing any fine sense of honor, but she was willing to accept Mrs.

Hastings' a.s.surance.

”The situation,” she pointed out, ”is rather a delicate one. You wish to expose Gregory's conduct to the girl he is going to marry, though, as you admit, the explanation will probably be painful to her. Can't you understand that the course suggested is a particularly difficult and repugnant one--to me?”

”I've no doubt of it,” admitted Mrs. Hastings. ”Still, I believe it must be adopted--for several reasons. In the first place, I think that if we can pull Gregory up now we shall save him from involving himself irretrievably. After all, perhaps, you owe him the effort. Then I think that we all owe something to Harry, and we can, at least, endeavor to carry out his wishes. He told what was to be done with his possessions in a will, and he never could have antic.i.p.ated that Gregory would dissipate them as he is doing.”

The least reason, as she had foreseen, proved convincing to Agatha, and she made a sign of concurrence.

”If you will drive me over I will do what I can,” she promised.

Now that she had succeeded, Mrs. Hastings lost no time, and they set out for the Creighton homestead next day. Soon after they reached the house she contrived that Sally should be left alone with Agatha. The two girls stood outside the house together when Agatha turned to her companion.

”Sally,” she said, ”there is something that I must tell you.”

Sally glanced at her face, and then walked forward until the log barn hid them from the house. She sat down upon a pile of straw and motioned to Agatha to take a place beside her.

”Now,” she observed sharply, ”you can go on; it's about Gregory, I suppose.”

Agatha, who found it very difficult to begin, though she had been well primed by Hastings on the previous evening, sat down in the straw, and looked about her for a moment or two. It was a hot afternoon, dazzlingly bright, and almost breathlessly still. In front of her the dark green wheat rolled waist-high, and beyond it the vast sweep of gra.s.s stretched back to the sky-line. Far away a team and a wagon slowly moved across the prairie, but that was the only sign of life, and no sound from the house reached them to break the heavy stillness.

She finally nerved herself to the effort, and spoke earnestly for several minutes before she glanced at Sally. It was evident that Sally had understood all that had been said, for she sat very still with a hard, set face.

”Oh!” Sally exclaimed, ”if I'd thought you'd come to tell me this because you were vexed with me, I'd know what to do.”

This was what Agatha had dreaded. It certainly looked as if she had come to triumph over her rival's humiliation, but Sally made it clear that she acquitted her of that intention.

”Still,” said Sally, ”I know that wasn't the reason, and I'm not mad with--you. It hurts”--she made an abrupt movement--”but I know it's true.”

She turned to Agatha suddenly. ”Why did you do it?”

”I thought you might save Gregory, if I told you.”

”That was all?” Sally looked at her with incredulous eyes.

”No,” answered Agatha simply, ”that was only part. It did not seem right that Gregory should go against Wyllard's wishes, and gamble the Range away on the wheat market.”

She admitted it without hesitation, for she realized now exactly what had animated her to seek this painful interview. She was fighting Wyllard's battle, and that fact sustained her.

Sally winced. ”Yes” she agreed, ”I guess you had to tell me. He was fond of you. One could be proud of that. Harry Wyllard never did anything low down and mean.”

Agatha did not resent her candor. Although this was a thing she would scarcely have credited a little while ago, she saw that the girl felt the contrast between Gregory's character and that of the man whose place he had taken, and regretted it. Agatha's eyes became dim with unshed tears.

”Wyllard, they think, is dead,” she said, in a low voice. ”You have Gregory still.”

Sally looked at her with unveiled compa.s.sion, and Agatha did not shrink from it.