Part 21 (1/2)

In the meanwhile Winston, crossing the room, took a vacant place at Maud Barrington's side. She turned her head a moment and looked at him.

Winston nodded. ”Yes, I heard,” he said. ”Why did you do it?”

Maud Barrington made a little gesture of impatience. ”That is quite unnecessary. You know I sent you.”

”Yes,” said Winston, a trifle dryly, ”I see. You would have felt mean if you hadn't defended me?”

”No,” said the girl, with a curious smile. ”That was not exactly the reason, but we cannot talk too long here. Dane is anxious to take us home in his new buggy, but it would apparently be a very tight fit for three. Will you drive me over?”

Winston only nodded, for Mrs. Macdonald approached in pursuit of him, but he spent the rest of the evening in a state of expectancy, and Maud Barrington fancied that his hard hands were suspiciously unresponsive as she took them when he helped her into the Silverdale wagon--a vehicle a strong man could have lifted, and in no way resembling its English prototype. The team was mettlesome, the lights of Macdonald's homestead soon faded behind them, and they were racing with many a lurch and jolt straight as the crow flies across the prairie.

There was no moon, but the stars shone far up in the soft indigo, and the gra.s.ses whirled back in endless ripples to the humming wheels, dimmed to the dusky blue that suffused the whole intermerging sweep of earth and sky. The sweetness of wild peppermint rose through the coolness of the dew, and the voices of the wilderness were part of the silence that was but the perfect balance of the nocturnal harmonies.

The two who knew and loved the prairie could pick out each one of them.

Nor did it seem that there was any need of speech on such a night, but at last Winston turned with a little smile to his companion, as he checked the horses on the slope of a billowy rise.

”One feels diffident about intruding on this great quietness,” he said.

”Still, I fancy you had a purpose in asking me to drive you home.”

”Yes,” said the girl, with a curious gentleness. ”In the first place, though I know it isn't necessary with you, I want to thank you. I made Dane tell me, and you have done all I wished--splendidly.”

Winston laughed. ”Well, you see, it naturally came easy to me.”

Maud Barrington noticed the trace of grimness in his voice. ”Please try to overlook our unkindness,” she said. ”Is it really needful to keep reminding me? And how was I to know what you were, when I had only heard that wicked story?”

Winston felt a little thrill run through him, for which reason he looked straight in front of him and s.h.i.+fted his grasp on the reins.

Disdainful and imperious as she was at times, he knew there was a wealth of softer qualities in his companion now. Her daintiness in thought and person, and honesty of purpose, appealed to him, while that night her mere physical presence had an effect that was almost bewildering. For a moment he wondered vaguely how far a man might dare to go, with what fate had thrust upon him, and then with a little s.h.i.+ver saw once more the barrier of deceit and imposture.

”You believe it was not a true one?” he asked.

”Of course,” said Maud Barrington. ”How could it be? And you have been very patient under our suspicions. Now, if you still value the good-will you once asked for, it is yours absolutely.”

”But you may still hear unpleasant stories about me,” said Winston, with a note the girl had not heard before in his voice.

”I should not believe them,” she said.

”Still,” persisted Winston, ”if the tales were true?”

Maud Barrington did nothing by halves. ”Then I should remember that there is always so much we do not know which would put a different color on any story, and I believe they could never be true again.”

Winston checked a little gasp of wonder and delight, and Maud Barrington looked away across the prairie. She was not usually impulsive and seldom lightly bestowed gifts that were worth the having, and the man knew that the faith in him she had confessed to was the result of a conviction that would last until he himself shattered it.

Then, in the midst of his elation, he s.h.i.+vered again and drew the lash across the near horse's back. The wonder and delight he felt had suddenly gone.

”Few would venture to predict as much. Now and then I feel that our deeds are scarcely contrived by our own will, and one could fancy our parts had been thrust upon us in a grim joke,” he said. ”For instance, isn't it strange that I should have a share in the rousing of Silverdale to a sense of its responsibilities? Lord, what I could make of it, if fate had but given me a fair opportunity!”

He spoke almost fiercely, but the words did not displease the girl.

The forceful ring in his voice set something thrilling within her, and she knew by this time that his a.s.sertions seldom went beyond the fact.