he went out next morning the decks were
white, and she could see dim ghosts of sliding pines through a haze of
falling snow. It grew bewilderingly thick at times, but the steamer
slid on through it with whistle hooting, and when at last towards
sunset the snow cleared away Agatha stood shivering under a deck-house,
looking about her with a curiously heavy heart.

A grey haze stretched across the great river, which was also dim and
grey, and odd wisps of pines rose raggedly beneath the white hills that
cut against a gloomy, lowering sky. Deck-house, boat, and stanchion
dripped, and every now and then the silence was broken by a doleful
blast of the whistle. Nothing moved on the still, grey water; there
was no sign of life ashore; and they seemed to be steaming into a great
desolation.

By and bye, Wyllard appeared from somewhere, and after a glance at her
face slipped his hand beneath her arm, and led her down to the lighted
saloon. Then her heart grew a little lighter. Once more she was
conscious of an unreasoning feeling that she was safe with him.

CHAPTER X.

DISILLUSION.

The long train was speeding smoothly across the vast white levels of
Assiniboia, when Agatha, who sat by a window, looked up as the
conductor strode through the car. Mrs. Hastings asked him a question,
and he stopped a moment.

"Yes," he said, "we'll be in Clermont inside half an hour."

Then he went on, and Mrs. Hastings smiled at Agatha.

"We're a little late, and Gregory will be waiting for us in the depot
now," she said. "No doubt he's got the waggon fixed up right, but I'd
like to feel sure of it. There's a long drive before us, and I want to
reach the homestead before it's dark."

Agatha said nothing, but a faint tinge of colour crept into her cheeks,
and her companion was glad to see it, for she had noticed that the girl
was looking rather pale and haggard. This was partly due to the fact
that the strain of the last few months she had spent in England was
commencing to tell on her. She had borne it courageously, but a
reaction had afterwards set in, and, as it happened, the _Scarrowmania_
had plunged along bows under against fresh north-westerly gales most of
the way across the Atlantic. There is very little comfort on board a
small, deeply-loaded steamer when she rolls her rails in, and lurches
with thudding screw swung clear over big, steep-sided combers. In
addition to this, Agatha had scarcely slept during th