Part 50 (2/2)
”Why, you're ill!” Beatrice exclaimed. ”Oh, I have brought you to this!”
The anguish in her cry cut through him as he was losing consciousness, and he pulled himself together.
”No,” he smiled, ”I'm not ill; but you must give me a moment to realize that I really have you again.”
They walked back the few paces to the trail. An old log lay beside it, half buried in gra.s.s and wild flowers, and here they sat together, in the cool stillness of the dusk, until the darkness came down and hovered round them. Out of the early night sky, one star shone down on them, like a blessing.
For the time being, it was nothing to them that the prairie sod was cracked and parched, and that the destroying wind would rise again at dawn.
On the way back to the Grange, Beatrice brought up the subject which she felt must be talked of and then dropped for good.
”How dreadfully mistaken I was about--the girl!” she said, hesitatingly.
”How did you find it out?”
”I haven't really found out anything; I'm afraid I can't explain. I suddenly saw the truth, and wondered why I had been blind.”
”Do you mean----”
”I mean that I should never have left you, Craig dear. I know that you never saw that girl before in your life--but I did not know it until I saw you standing there, in the wheat, this evening.”
Harding dropped the hand he was holding, and caught her to him.
”Dear!” was all he said.
”Can you explain what happened in Winnipeg?” she asked as they walked on again.
”No; I'm puzzled. But, for your sake, I shall not rest until I've cleared myself.” Then, with a sudden shock, he remembered the wheat they had left. ”But I was forgetting--I may be a ruined man.”
”And I the daughter of another,” Beatrice answered with a smile. ”That could make no difference, Craig; and we're not ruined yet. Still, because I was hard and unjust at first, I should like you to remember that I came to you when you were in trouble, and didn't ask whether you were innocent or not.”
”I'll remember it,” said Harding, ”as long as I live.”
When they reached the house, Mowbray and his wife were sitting on the veranda, and Lance came down the steps to meet them with his hand held out. Neither spoke, but Harding was touched by the sincerity of his welcome.
Beatrice ran up the steps to her mother, and Harding, after a word of greeting turned away. He felt that, until he had cleared himself, it would be more becoming in him to keep away from the Colonel and Mrs.
Mowbray.
The next morning Mowbray called Beatrice into his study.
”I am glad that your confidence in Harding has returned,” he said. ”You must, however, understand that the situation is still awkward.”
”Yes; Craig and I talked it over last night.”
”You talked this matter over!” Mowbray exclaimed.
”Of course,” said Beatrice calmly. ”It's of some importance to me. Are you surprised?”
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