that of the whole settlement."

Grace paused, and a man rose upright at the further end of the hall.

"We came here with a feeling of contrition, yet not wholly ashamed," he
said. "On behalf of all I offer the new mistress of Carrington our deepest
sympathy and an assurance of good-will," and again there was a deep murmur
of chivalrous respect from the sun and wind-bronzed men.

Grace's gaze was not so steady and her voice was lower as she answered, "I
thank you. It is a barren heritage, weighted down by debt, but with the
help of my kinsman Lyle we shall do our utmost to improve it. Still, it
was not that that I wanted to tell you. How we last parted you know," and
some of those I noticed showed a darker color in their cheeks, as though
it were an unpleasant memory. "Since then I have tried to consider rightly
all that led up to it, and I ask you to forgive me."

"It was our own blind precipitancy. I am afraid you spoke the truth," a
voice said; but raising her hand for silence Grace went on:

"As I said, this estate entails a heavy responsibility, and I have been
considering what I should do concerning the creamery. My father acted as
seemed right according to his judgment, and I do not know all his reasons,
but now that the decision devolves upon me I am impelled to act according
to my own. No two people see the same thing under the same aspect,
and--this is no disrespect to him--I dare not do otherwise. I think the
creamery will enhance the settlement's prosperity, and though I cannot
grant the Green Mountain site, in which you must bear with me, you may
take the next best, the Willow Grove, with its timber and water, at an
appraised value, to be represented by stock in the creamery. This is all I
have to tell you, and until I resign this position to Miss Carrington I
trust to enjoy your friendship and good-will. You will, I hope, decide,
before you go when to start the work."

"There is still a ruler of Carrington; we haven't a Salic law. We are all
your servants, madam," a big man said, and when some one cried, "To the
Princess of Carrington," the rafters rang to the thunderous cheer, while
once more I wondered that Grace should ever have listened to me. Whether
it was born in her, an hereditary dowry, or was the result of her
father's influence and company, I do not know, but Grace, who could at
other times be only womanly, spoke to the riders of Carrington with the
air of a sovereign. And yet it appeared pe