Muriel found it needful to wait several days for an opportunity for speaking to Prescott. It did not seem advisable to visit his house again, and she was at a loss for a means of meeting him when she overheard Leslie tell his wife that he would ask Prescott, who was going to Sebastian the next morning, to bring out some stores they required. The next day Muriel borrowed a team and, contenting herself with an intimation that she was going for a long drive, set off for the settlement. It would be time enough to confess her object if her sister taxed her with it, and there were one or two purchases she really wished to make.

She had never gone so far alone, though she had occasionally driven to an outlying farm, and the expedition had in it the zest of adventure. Moreover, she was boldly going to undertake a very unusual task in showing Prescott what he ought to do. So far, she had been an interested spectator of the drama of life, but now she would participate in it, exercising such powers as she possessed, and the thought was additionally fascinating because among her intimate friends she could not pick out a man who owed much to a woman’s guidance. Her sister had some mental gifts, but Harry Colston, disregarding her in a good-humored but dogged fashion, did what he thought best; while the idea of Jernyngham’s deferring 273 to Gertrude was frankly ridiculous. Neither man had much ability; indeed, it was, as a rule, the dullest men who were most convinced of their superior sense. Prescott far surpassed them in intellect; but she pulled herself up. She was not going to dwell on Prescott’s virtues unduly, and she had not convinced him yet.

The team gave her no trouble, the trail was good, and reaching Sebastian safely, she spent some time in a drygoods store, and afterward went to the hotel, where supper was being served. She would not have waited for it, only that she had seen nothing of Prescott, and she had the excuse that the team must have a rest. On entering the big dining-room she was inclined to regret that meals can rarely be had in private in the West, although, by the favor of a waitress, she succeeded in obtaining a small table to herself. There were only two women present, clerks in the store, she believed, but the room was nearly filled with men. Among them were ranchers with faces darkened by the glare of the snow, some of them wearing shabby coats from which the fur was coming off, though the room was warm; a few railroad hands who laid sooty mittens on the table; the smart station-agent; a number of storekeepers and clerks. Now and then boisterous laughter rang out, and one group indulged in rather pointed banter, while the way that several of them used their knives and forks left much to be desired; but nobody regarded the girl with marked attention. For all that, she was sensible of some relief when Prescott came in and moved toward her table.

“May I take this place?” he asked.

“Of course,” she said.

After speaking to a waitress, he inquired whether Colston or her sister were at the hotel. 274

“No; I drove in alone.”

She saw his surprise, which suggested that her task might prove more difficult than she had imagined.

“Well,” he said, “the trail’s pretty good and there’s a moon to-night; but didn’t you hesitate about getting supper here by yourself?”

“Not very much; there was really no reason why I should hesitate.”

“That’s true. But you had your doubts?”

“They were foolish,” Muriel told him. “Why are you so curious?”

“I’m interested.” He indicated the room and its occupants. “These people, their manners, and surroundings are typical of the New West.”

“Do you feel that you ought to defend them?”

“Oh, no! They don’t need it. They have their faults and their virtues, and neither are mean. They’ve the makings of a big nation and they’re doing great work to-day. However, you had certainly no cause for uneasiness; there’s not a man in the place who would have shown you the least disrespect.”

“After all,” Muriel contended, “they’re not your people. You came from Montreal; your ideas and habits are more like ours than theirs.”

“They’re mine by adoption; I’ve thrown in my lot with them.” He fixed his eyes on her. “Do you know the secret of making colonization a success? In a way, it’s a hard truth, but it’s this—there must be no looking back. The old ties must be cut loose once for all; a man must think of the land in which he prospers as his home; it’s not a square deal to run back with the money he has made in it. He must grow up with the rising nation he becomes a member of.” 275

“Yes,” Muriel conceded slowly; “I think that is so. But it’s harder for a woman.”

“And yet have you seen any one who looked unhappy?”

“No,” she admitted with thoughtful candor. “The few I have got to know seem to have an importance that perhaps is not very common at home. For instance, I heard Leslie giving his wife his reasons for thinking of buying some Hereford cattle, and his respect for her opinion impressed me.”

Prescott smiled.

“If I were going to sell those beasts, I’d rather make the deal with her husband.”

Then he changed the subject and they talked in a lighter vein until the room began to empty and a waitress came to collect the plates.

“Don’t they close this place as soon as supper is finished?” Muriel asked, trying to overcome her diffidence. “Where can I have a word or two with you? I was afraid that somebody might overhear us here.”

“The parlor would be best,” he answered in some surprise. “The boys prefer the downstairs room and the bar. I’ll tell the man about my horse, and then I’ll be there.”

Muriel found the few minutes she had to wait trying, but she gathered her courage when he joined her.

“Sit down,” she said with an air of decision. “I’d better begin at once, and the thing is serious. What have you done to clear yourself, since I last saw you?”

His searching glance filled her with misgivings; without being subtle, he was by no means dull, and he must be curious about her motive in asking him. To her relief, however, he confined himself to the point she had raised.

“Nothing. I don’t see what can be done.” 276

“Then are you content to remain suspected?”

“No; I’m not content! But as I seem to be helpless, the fools who can only judge by appearances and the others who are quick to think the worst of me must believe what they like. Anyway, their opinion doesn’t count for much.”

“How can people judge except by appearances?” Muriel argued. “Besides, do you divide everybody you know into those two classes?”

He looked hard at her and, to her annoyance, she grew confused.

“No,” he said slowly; “that would be very wrong—I was too quick. There are a few with generous minds who haven’t turned against me and I’m very grateful.”

“It might have been enough if you had said they had sense; but don’t you feel you owe them something? Is it fair to keep silence and do nothing while they fight your battle?”

“Are there people who are doing so?”

“Yes,” Muriel answered steadily. “You oughtn’t to doubt it. You’re wronging your friends.”

His expression betokened a strong effort at self-control.

“Well,” he said, “it seems I have a duty to them, but how I’m to get about it is more than I know.”

“Have you thought of telling the police about your journey to British Columbia and what you learned about Cyril Jernyngham?”

“I’m afraid they wouldn’t believe me. Then there’s the trouble that the man I followed called himself Kermode.”

“Never mind. Tell them; tell everybody you know.”

“It would be useless,” Prescott said doggedly.

“You’re wrong,” Muriel persisted. “When a thing 277 is talked about enough, people begin to believe it. Besides, it would give your supporters an argument against the doubtful. I’m afraid they need one after the finding of the clothes.”

“The clothes? What clothes?”

Muriel’s faith in Prescott had never been shaken, but his surprise caused her keen satisfaction, and she told him all she knew about Jernyngham’s discovery.

“Still, I don’t see what finding them there could signify,” he said when she had finished.

“Then you don’t know that a day or two after Cyril Jernyngham disappeared, a man dressed in clothes like those found, sold some land of his at a place called Navarino?”

Prescott started.

“It’s the first I’ve heard of it. There’s some villainy here; the things must have been hidden near my house with the object of strengthening suspicion against me!”

“Of course! But you can’t think that Jernyngham had a hand in it?”

“Oh, no! The man is trying to ruin me, but that kind of meanness isn’t in his line. Perhaps I’d better say that I never had clothes like those and that I sold no land of Cyril’s.”

“Mr. ............