quantities in the Yukon valley, and now--now, at last, he had
failed. The shock had for the moment crushed her; her boy, her proud
independent boy, as she had been wont to consider him, had failed. She
did not ask herself, or him, the reason of his failure. Such failure,
she felt, must be through no fault of his, but the result of adverse
circumstances.

She never thought of the gambling-table. She never thought of reckless
living. Such things could not enter her simple mind and be in any way
associated with her boy. Hephzibah Malling loved her son; to her he
was the king who could do no wrong. She continued to gaze blankly in
the man's direction.

Sarah Gurridge alone of the trio allowed herself sidelong, speculative
glances at the man's face. She had seen the furtive overhead glances;
the steady avoidance of the loving observation of his womankind. She
had known Hervey as well, and perhaps just a shade better than his
mother and sister had; and long since, in his childish school-days,
she had detected a lurking weakness in an otherwise good character.
She wondered now if he had lived to outgrow that juvenile trait, or
had it grown with him, gaining strength as the greater passions of
manhood developed?

After the first shock of Hervey's announcement had passed, Mrs.
Malling sought refuge in the consolation of her own ability to help
her son. He must never know want, or suffer the least privation. She
could and would give him everything he needed. Besides, after all, she
argued with womanly feeling, now perhaps she could persuade him to
look after the farm for her; to stay by her side. He should be in no
way dependent. She would install him as manager at a comfortable
salary. The idea pleased her beyond measure, and it was with
difficulty she could keep herself from at once putting her proposal
into words. However, by a great effort, she checked her enthusiasm.

"Then when do you think of going East?" she asked, with some
trepidation. "You won't go at once, sure."

"Yes, I must go at once," Hervey replied promptly. "That is, to-morrow
morning."

"Then you will stay to-night," said Prudence.

"Yes; but only to get a good long sleep and rest my horse. I'm
thoroughly worn out. I've been in saddle since early this morning."

"Have you sent your horse round to the barn?" asked Sarah Gurridge.

"Well, no. He's hitched to the fence." The observing Sarah had been
sure of it.

Prudence rose from her seat and called