Part 9 (2/2)

A young girl sat at the piano singing in a thin reedy voice, while an English lad waited with the ill-concealed jealousy of a too officious companion to turn over the music by her side. Other men, mostly young, with weather-bronzed faces, picturesque in embroidered deerskin or velvet lounge jackets, were scattered about the room, and all were waiting for the eight o'clock dinner, which replaced the usual prairie supper at Silverdale. They were growers of wheat who combined a good deal of amus.e.m.e.nt with a little, not very profitable, farming, and most of them possessed a large share of insular English pride and a somewhat depleted exchequer.

Presently Dane crossed over, and sat down by Colonel Barrington. ”You are silent, sir, and not looking very well to-night,” he said.

Barrington nodded gravely, for he had a respect for the one man who occasionally spoke plain truth to him. ”The fact is, I am growing old,” he said, and then added, with what was only an apparent lack of connection, ”Wheat is down three cents, and money tighter than ever.”

Dane looked thoughtful, and noticed the older man's glance in his niece's direction, as he said, ”I am afraid there are difficult times before us.”

”I have no doubt we shall weather them as we have done before,” said the Colonel. ”Still, I can't help admitting that just now I feel--a little tired--and am commencing to think we should have been better prepared for the struggle had we worked a trifle harder during the recent era of prosperity. I could wish there were older heads on the shoulders of those who will come after me.”

Just then Maud Barrington glanced at them, and Dane, who could not remember having heard his leader talk in that fas.h.i.+on before, and could guess his anxieties, was a little touched as he noticed his attempt at sprightliness. As it happened, one of the lads at the piano commenced a song of dogs and horses that had little to recommend it but the brave young voice.

”They have the right spirit, sir,” he said.

”Of course!” said Barrington. ”They are English lads, but I think a little more is required. Thank G.o.d we have not rated the dollar too high, but it is possible we have undervalued its utility, and I fear I have only taught them to be gentlemen.”

”That is a good deal, sir,” Dane said quietly.

”It is. Still, a gentleman, in the restricted sense, is somewhat of an anachronism on the prairie, and it is too late to begin again. In the usual course of nature I must lay down my charge presently, and that is why I feel the want of a more capable successor, whom they would follow because of his connection with mine and me.”

Dane looked thoughtful. ”If I am not taking a liberty--you still consider the one apparently born to fill the place quite unsuitable?”

”Yes,” said Barrington quietly. ”I fear there is not a redeeming feature in Courthorne's character.”

Neither said anything further, until there was a tapping at the door, and, though this was a most unusual spectacle on the prairie, a trim English maid in white-banded dress stood in the opening.

”Mr. Courthorne, Miss Barrington,” she said.

Now Silverdale had adopted one Western custom in that no chance guest was ever kept waiting, and the music ceased suddenly, while the stillness was very suggestive, when a man appeared in the doorway. He wore one of the Scandinavian leather jackets which are not uncommon in that country, and when his eyes had become accustomed to the light, moved forward with a quiet deliberation that was characterized neither by graceful ease nor the restraint of embarra.s.sment. His face was almost the color of a Blackfeet's, his eyes steady and gray, but those of the men who watched him were turned the next moment upon the Colonel's sister, who rose to receive him, slight, silver-haired, and faded, but still stamped with a simple dignity that her ancient silks and laces curiously enhanced. Then there was a silence that could be felt, for all realized that a good deal depended on the stranger's first words and the fas.h.i.+on of his reception by Miss Barrington and the Colonel.

Winston, as it happened, felt this too, and something more. It was eight years since he had stood before an English lady, and he surmised that there could not be many to compare with this one, while after his grim lonely life an intangible something that seemed to emanate from her gracious serenity compelled his homage. Then as she smiled at him and held out her hand, he was for a moment sensible of an almost overwhelming confusion. It pa.s.sed as suddenly, for this was a man of quick perceptions, and remembering that Courthorne had now and then displayed some of the grace of by-gone days he yielded to a curious impulse, and, stooping, kissed the little withered fingers.

”I have,” he said, ”to thank you for a welcome that does not match my poor deserts, madam.”

Then Dane, standing beside his leader, saw the grimness grow a trifle less marked in his eyes. ”It is in the blood,” he said half-aloud, but Dane heard and afterwards remembered it.

In the meanwhile Miss Barrington had turned from the stranger to her niece. ”It is a very long time since you have seen Lance, Maud, and, though I knew his mother well, I am less fortunate, because this is our first meeting,” she said. ”I wonder if you still remember my niece?”

Now, Winston had been gratified by his first success, and was about to venture on the answer that it was impossible to forget; but when he turned towards the very stately young woman in the long black dress whose eyes had a sardonic gleam, and wondered whether he had ever seen anybody so comely or less inclined to be companionable, it was borne in upon him that any speech of the kind would be distinctly out of place.

Accordingly, and because there was no hand held out in this case, he contented himself with a little bend of his head. Then he was presented to the Colonel, who was distantly cordial, and Winston was thankful when the maid appeared in the doorway again, to announce that dinner was ready, Miss Barrington laid her hand upon his arm.

”You will put up with an old woman's company tonight?” she said.

Winston glanced down deprecatingly at his attire. ”I must explain that I had no intention of trespa.s.sing on your hospitality,” he said. ”I purposed going on to my own homestead, and only called to acquaint Colonel Barrington with my arrival.”

Miss Barrington laughed pleasantly. ”That,” she said, ”was neither dutiful nor friendly. I should have fancied you would also have desired to pay your respects to my niece and me.”

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