hen he reached his homestead rather late
that night he went to sleep, and slept soundly until sunrise, which was
significant. Hawtrey was, at least, a man who never brooded over his
troubles beforehand, and this was, perhaps, one reason why he did not
always cope with them successfully when they could no longer be avoided.

When he had made his breakfast he, however, became sensible of a
certain pique against both Mrs. Hastings and the girl, which led him to
remember that he had no hired man, and that there was a good deal to be
done. He decided that it might be well to wait until the afternoon
before he called on them, and for several hours he drove his team
through the crackling stubble. His doubts and irritation grew weaker
as he did so, and when at length he drove into sight of Hastings's
homestead, his buoyant temperament was commencing to reassert itself.
Clear sunshine streamed down upon the prairie out of a vault of
cloudless blue, and he felt that after all any faint shadow that might
have arisen between him and the girl could be readily swept away.

He was, however, a little less sure of this when he saw her. Agatha
sat near an open window, in a scantily furnished match-boarded room,
and she, at least, as it happened, had not slept at all. Her eyes were
heavy, but there was a look of resolution in them which seemed out of
place just then, and it struck him that she had lost the freshness
which had characterised her in England.

She rose when he came in, and then, to his astonishment, drew back a
pace or two when he moved impulsively towards her.

"No," she said, with a hand raised restrainingly, "you must hear what I
have to say, and try to bear with me. It is a little difficult,
Gregory, but it must be said at once."

The man stood still, almost awkwardly, looking at her with
consternation in his face, and for a moment she looked steadily at him.
It was a painful moment, for she was just then gifted with a clearness
of vision which she almost longed to be delivered from. She saw that
the impression which had brought her a vague sense of dismay on the
previous afternoon was wrong. The trouble was that he had not changed
at all. He was what he had always been, and she had merely deceived
herself when she had permitted her girlish fancy to endue him with
qualities and graces which he had, it seemed, never possessed. There
was, however, no doubt that she had still a duty towards him.

He spoke fir