ad never seriously intended doing anything so rash, although for
one impetuous moment his passion had made him irresponsible. And, as
he thought it all over, he concluded that nothing was to be gained by
pursuit of the runaways. There was only one west-bound train in the
day; he could not give chase until the morrow, and they would be able
to lead him by twenty-four hours as long as he cared to keep up the
pursuit. True, he might telegraph ahead to the police, but that meant
publicity, and would probably be ineffectual in the end. She had gone
of her own free will, and although his heart hurt even under his
anger, now that she had gone she might stay. She had left a good
home, a fond father, and a share in the family estate for a--hired
man--and she might now make the best of her bargain. Harris assured
himself, with absolute sincerity, that he had done his duty in the
matter, and that in exchange for all his kindness his daughter had
treated him very badly indeed.

During the drive homeward his thoughts persistently turned to the
share his wife had had in Beulah's departure, and his feeling toward
Mary grew more and more hostile. Not that he altogether disbelieved
her when she professed ignorance of the young couple's intention; he
could not go so far as to think that she had lied to him, but he was
inwardly convinced that she had at least an inkling of their plans,
and that, so far from attempting to dissuade them, she was really in
sympathy with their wild escapade. Harris was very fond of his wife,
who had shared with him all the hardships of pioneer life, and who,
he admitted, had been a faithful and devoted helpmeet, and her
desertion of him in the present crisis was therefore all the less to
be excused or condoned. He resolved, however, that there should be no
open breach between them; he would neither scold nor question her,
but would impress her with his displeasure by adopting a cold,
matter-of-fact, speak-when-your spoken-to attitude toward her.

Under the circumstances it was not remarkable that Harris's work
began to loom larger than ever in his life. The space left vacant by
his daughter he filled with extra energy driving the great ploughs
through the mellow summer-fallow. A new tank-man was engaged, and the
rumble of the engine was heard up and down the fields from early
morning until dark. From his wife he held aloof, speaking with
strained courtesy when speech was necessary. She, in turn, schooled
fo