hat I have set my heart upon, and after all it is
not my business," he said. "I will give you five hundred dollars and
you can go to Chicago or Montreal, and consult a specialist. If the
money is exhausted before I send for you, I will pay your hotel bills,
but every dollar will be deducted when we come to the reckoning."

Courthorne laughed a little. "You had better make it seven fifty.
Five hundred dollars will not go very far with me."

"Then you will have to husband them," said Winston dryly. "I am paying
you at a rate agreed upon for the use of your land and small bank
balance handed me, and want all of it. The rent is a fair one in face
of the fact that a good deal of the farm consisted of virgin prairie,
which can be had from the Government for nothing."

He said nothing further, and soon after he went out Courthorne went to
sleep, but Winston sat by an open window with a burned-out cigar in his
hand staring at the prairie while the night wore through, until he rose
with a shiver in the chill of early morning to commence his task again.

A few days later he saw Courthorne safely into a sleeping car with a
ticket for Chicago in his pocket, and felt that a load had been lifted
off his shoulders when the train rolled out of the little prairie
station. Another week had passed when, riding home one evening, he
stopped at the Grange, and as it happened found Maud Barrington alone.
She received him without any visible restraint, but he realized that
all that had passed at their last meeting was to be tacitly ignored.

"Has your visitor recovered yet?" she asked.

"So far as to leave my place, and I was not anxious to keep him," said
Winston, with a little laugh. "I am sorry he disturbed you."

Maud Barrington seemed thoughtful. "I scarcely think the man was to
blame."

"No?" said Winston.

The girl looked at him curiously, and shook her head. "No," she said.
"I heard my uncle's explanation, but it was not convincing. I saw the
man's face."

It was several seconds before Winston answered, and then he took the
bold course.

"Well?" he said.

Maud Barrington made a curious little gesture. "I knew I had seen it
before at the bridge, but that was not all. It was vaguely familiar,
and I felt I ought to know it. It reminded me of somebody."

"Of me?" and Winston laughed.

"No. There was a resemblance, but it was very superficial. That man's
face had little in common with yours."

"These faint