"Yes," she said, simply; "and I shall be grateful."
In another few minutes she was galloping across the prairie, and when
she rejoined her aunt and Barrington, endeavored to draw out the
latter's opinion respecting Courthorne's venture by a few discreet
questions.
"Heaven knows where he was taught it, but there is no doubt that the
man is an excellent farmer," he said. "It is a pity that he is also to
all intents and purposes mad."
Miss Barrington glanced at her niece, and both of them smiled, for the
Colonel usually took for granted the insanity of any one who questioned
his opinions.
In the meanwhile Winston sat swaying on the driving-seat, mechanically
guiding the horses, and noticing how the prairie sod rolled away in
black waves beneath the great plow. He heard the crackle of fibers
beneath the triple shares, and the swish of greasy loam along the
moldboard's side, but his thoughts were far away, and when he raised
his head, he looked into the dim future beyond the long furrow that cut
the skyline on the rise.
It was shadowy and uncertain, but one thing was clear to him, and that
was that he could not stay at Silverdale. At first, he had almost
hoped he might do this, for the good land and the means of efficiently
working it had been a great temptation. That was before he reckoned on
Maud Barrington's attractions, but of late he had seen what these were
leading him to, and all that was good in him recoiled from an attempt
to win her.
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