efer not to,
my dear, but what we saw the other night appears to give it
probability. The man Courthorne was dismissing somewhat summarily is,
I believe, to marry the lady in question. You will remember I asked
you once before whether the leopard can change his spots."

The girl laughed a little. "Still, are you not presuming when you take
it for granted that there are spots to change?"

Colonel Barrington said nothing further, and it was late that night
when the two women reopened the subject.

"Aunt," said Maud Barrington, "I want to know what you think about Mrs.
Carndall's tale."

The little lady shook her head. "I should like to disbelieve it if I
could."

"Then," said Maud Barrington, "why don't you?"

"Can you give me any reasons? One must not expect too much from human
nature, my dear."

The girl sat silent a while, remembering the man who she had at first
sight, and in the moonlight, fancied was like her companion at the
time. It was not, however, the faint resemblance that had impressed
her, but a vague something in his manner, his grace, his half-veiled
insolence, his poise in the saddle. She had only seen Lance Courthorne
on a few occasions when she was very young, but she had seen others of
his race, and the man reminded her of them. Still, she felt
half-instinctively that as yet it would be better that nobody should
know this, and she stooped over some lace on the table as she answered
the elder lady.

"I only know one, and it is convincing. That Lance should have done
what he is credited with doing, is quite impossible."

Miss Barrington smiled. "I almost believe so, too, but others of his
family have done such things somewhat frequently. Do you know that
Lance has all along been a problem to me, for there is a good deal in
my brother's question. Although it seems out of the question, I have
wondered whether there could be two Lance Courthornes in Western
Canada."

The girl looked at her aunt in silence for a space, but each hid a
portion of her thoughts. Then Maud Barrington laughed.

"The Lance Courthorne now at Silverdale is as free from reproach as any
man may be," she said. "I can't tell you why I am sure of it--but I
know I am not mistaken."

CHAPTER XXI

THE FACE AT THE WINDOW

It was a hot morning when Sergeant Stimson and Corporal Payne rode
towards the railroad across the prairie. The grassy levels rolled away
before them, white and parched, into the blue