t
to her room to divest herself of Val's clothes. The thing had been done
without anyone knowing of her absence. But she was frightened as she
looked into the mirror. She was haggard, and her eyes were bloodshot.
Eight hours or nearly in the saddle, at ten miles an hour, had told
on her severely; as well it might. Even a prairie-born woman, however,
understands the art and use of grooming better than a man. Warm water
quickly heated at the gas, with a little acetic acid in it, used
generally for her scouring,--and then cold water with oatmeal flour,
took away in part the dulness and the lines in the flesh. But the eyes!
Jen remembered the vial of tincture of myrrh left by a young Englishman
a year ago, and used by him for refreshing his eyes after a drinking
bout. She got it, tried the tincture, and saw and felt an immediate
benefit. Then she made a cup of strong green tea, and in ten minutes was
like herself again. Now for the horse. She went quickly out where she
could not be seen from the windows of the house, and gave him a rubbing
down till he was quite dry. Then she gave him a little water and some
feed. The horse was really the touchstone of discovery. But Jen trusted
in her star. If the worst came she would tell the tale. It must be told
anyway to Sergeant Tom--but that was different now. Even if the thing
became known it would only be a thing to be teased about by her father
and others, and she could stop that. Poor girl, as though that was the
worst that was to come from her act!

Sergeant Tom slept deeply and soundly. He had not stirred. His breathing
was unnaturally heavy, Jen thought, but, no suspicion of foul play
came to her mind yet. Why should it? She gave herself up to a sweet and
simple sense of pride in the deed she had done for him, disturbed but
slightly by the chances of discovery, and the remembrance of the match
that showed her face at Archangel's Rise. Her hands touched the flaxen
hair of the soldier, and her eyes grew luminous. One night had stirred
all her soul to its depths. A new woman had been born in her. Val was
dear to her--her brother Val; but she realised now that another had come
who would occupy a place that neither father, nor brother, nor any other
could fill. Yet it was a most weird set of tragic circumstances. This
man before her had been set to do a task which might deprive her brother
of his life, certainly of his freedom; that would disgrace him; her
father had done a great w