-and
Potter's kind to me. At least, I can be straight with him, and I pray
I'll never see your face, or hear your name again. Now go--go--I can't
bear any more from you."

Courthorne stood still, looking at her, for almost a minute, while the
wild reckless devil that was in him awoke. Clever as he was, he was
apt now and then to fling prudence to the winds, and he was swayed by
an almost uncontrollable impulse to stay beside the girl who, he
realized, though she recognized his worthlessness, loved him still.
That he did not love her, and, perhaps, never had done so, did not
count with him. It was in his nature to find pleasure in snatching her
from a better man. Then some faint sense of the wantonness and cruelty
of it came upon him, and by a tense effort he made her a little
inclination that was not ironical.

"Well," he said, "if they are worth anything my good wishes go with
you. At least, they can't hurt you."

He held his hand out, but Ailly Blake shrank away from him and pointed
to the door.

"Go," she said hoarsely. "Go now."

Courthorne made a little gesture that might have meant anything, and
then he swung round abruptly without another look at her. When the
door dosed behind him he went down the corridor with a little wry smile
in his eyes.

"After all, it's the gambler first," he said. "A little rough on the
straight man--as usual."

Then he sat down beside the stove in the bare general room and
thoughtfully smoked a cigar. Ailly was going to England, Winston, to
save his neck, had gone as Courthorne to Silverdale, and in another day
or two the latter would have disappeared. He could not claim his new
possessions without forcing facts better left unmentioned upon
everybody's attention, since Winston would doubtless object to
jeopardize himself to please him, and the land at Silverdale could not
in any case be sold without the consent of Colonel Barrington. Winston
was also an excellent farmer and a man he had confidence in, one who
could be depended on to subsidize the real owner, which would suit the
gambler a good deal better than farming. When he had come to this
decision he threw his cigar end away and strolled towards the bar.

"Boys," he said to the loungers, "I want you to have a drink with me.
Somebody has left me land and property in the very select colony of
Silverdale on the Canadian prairie, and I'm going back there to take
possession first thing to-morrow."

Most of them