"You are a very wise
woman, aunt, but you are a little transparent now and then," she said.
"At least he shall have a fair trial without prejudice or favor--and if
he fails, as fail he will, we shall find the means of punishing him."
"We?" said the elder lady, a trifle maliciously.
The girl nodded as she moved towards the doorway, and then turned a
moment with the folds of the big red curtain flung behind her. It
forced up the sweeping lines of a figure so delicately molded that its
slenderness was scarcely apparent, for Maud Barrington still wore a
long somber dress that had assisted in her triumphs in the city. It
emphasized the clear pallor of her skin and the brightness of her eyes,
as she held herself very erect in a pose which, while assumed in
mockery, had yet in it something that was almost imperial.
"Yes," she said. "We. You know who is the power behind the throne at
Silverdale, and what the boys call me. And now, good-night. Sleep
well, dear."
She went out, and Miss Barrington sat very still gazing with eyes that
were curiously thoughtful into the fire. "Princess of the Prairie--and
it fits her well," she said and then sighed a little. "And if there is
a trace of hardness in the girl it may be fortunate. We all have our
troubles--and wheat is going down."
In the meanwhile, late as it was, Colonel Barrington and his chief
lieutenant, Gordon Dane, sat in his log-walled smoking-room talking
with a man he sold his wheat through in Winnipeg.
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