he result of the man's character, for he was of a strikingly vigorous
nature. He had put the machinery in motion, and now he primed it with
the oil of eager desire to see the work swiftly carried out.

As his horse galloped over the prairie--he took the direct route of
the crow's flight--his thoughts centred upon the object of his visit.
He saw nothing of the pleasant fields and pastures through which his
journey took him. The threat of coming storm was nothing to him. For
all heed he paid to it the sky might have been of a tropical blue. The
ruffling prairie chicken rose lazily in their coveys, with their crops
well filled with the gleanings of the harvested wheat fields, but he
scarcely even saw them. All he saw was the sweet, dark face of the
girl to whom he intended to put the question which women most love to
hear; whether it be put by the man of their choice or by some one for
whom they care not a cent. He had always longed for this day to come,
but, until now, had never seen how such could ever dawn for him. It
had been a great wrench to sever himself from the past, but his
decision once taken his heart was filled with thankfulness, and never
had he felt so free from care as now. He realized all that a lover
may realize of his own unworthiness, but he allowed himself no
extravagances of thought in this direction. Prudence was a good woman,
he knew, and he intended, if Fate so willed, to devote the rest of his
life to her happiness. As he drew near to his destination his heart
beat a shade faster, and doubts began to assail him. He found himself
speculating upon his chances of success. He believed that the daughter
of Hephzibah Malling regarded him with favour, but nothing had gone
before to give him any clue to her maiden feelings. He wondered
doubtfully, and, in proportion, his nervousness increased.

Out upon the trail, at a distance, he saw a horseman riding away from
the farm; he did not even trouble about the rider's identity. The
strong, reckless nature, concealed beneath his quiet exterior, urged
him on to learn his fate. Nothing mattered to him now but his sentence
as pronounced by the child of the prairie whose love he sought.

There were three occupants of the sitting-room at the farm. Prudence
and Alice Gordon were at the table, which was covered by a litter of
tweed dress material and paper patterns. Prudence was struggling with
a maze of skirt-folds, under which a sewing-machine was almost buried.