<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2>
<h3>THE PROGRESSIVE EUCHRE PARTY</h3>
<p>The Mallings always had a good gathering at their
card parties. Such form of entertainment and
dances were the chief winter amusement of these
prairie-bred folks. A twenty-mile drive in a box-sleigh,
clad in furs, buried beneath heavy fur robes,
and reclining on a deep bedding of sweet-smelling
hay, in lieu of seats, made the journey as comfortable
to such people as would the more luxurious brougham
to the wealthy citizen of civilization. There was
little thought of display amongst the farmers of
Manitoba. When they went to a party their primary
object was enjoyment, and they generally contrived to
obtain their desire at these gatherings. Journeys
were chiefly taken in parties; and the amount of
snugness obtained in the bottom of a box-sleigh
would be surprising to those without such experience.
There was nothing <i>blasé</i> about the simple country
folk. A hard day’s work was nothing to them. They
would follow it up by an evening’s enjoyment with
the keenest appreciation; and they knew how to
revel with the best.</p>
<p>The first to arrive at Loon Dyke Farm were the
Furrers. Daisy, Fortune, and Rachel, three girls of
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round proportions, all dressed alike, and of age ranging
in the region of twenty. They spoke well and
frequently; and their dancing eyes and ready laugh
indicated spirits at concert pitch. These three were
great friends of Prudence, and were loud in their
admiration of her. Peter Furrer, their brother, was
with them; he was a red-faced boy of about seventeen,
a giant of flesh, and a pigmy of intellect––outside of
farming operations. Mrs. Furrer accompanied the
party as chaperon––for even in the West chaperons
are recognized as useful adjuncts, and, besides, enjoyment
is not always a question of age.</p>
<p>Following closely on the heels of the Furrers came
old Gleichen and his two sons, Tim and Harry.
Gleichen was a well-to-do “mixed” farmer––a
widower who was looking out for a partner as staid
and robust as himself. His two sons were less of the
prairie than their father, by reason of an education at
St. John’s University in Winnipeg. Harry was an
aspirant to Holy Orders, and already had charge of a
mission in the small neighbouring settlement of Lakeville.
Tim acted as foreman to his father’s farm; a
boy of enterprising ideas, and who never hesitated to
advocate to his steady-going parent the advantage of
devoting himself to stock-raising.</p>
<p>Others arrived in quick succession; a truly agricultural
gathering. Amongst the latest of the early
arrivals were the Ganthorns; mother, son, and
daughter, pretentious folk of considerable means, and
recently imported from the Old Country.</p>
<p>By half-past seven everybody had arrived with the
exception of George Iredale and Leslie Grey. The
fun began from the very first.</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_83' name='page_83'></SPAN>83</span></div>
<p>The dining-table had disappeared from the parlour,
as had the rugs from the floor, and somehow a layer
of white wax, like an incipient fall of snow, lay invitingly
on the bare white pine boarding. And, too, it
seemed only natural that the moment she came into
the room ready for the fray, Daisy Furrer should
make a rush for the ancient piano, and tinkle out
with fair execution the strains of an old waltz. Her
efforts broke up any sign of constraint; everybody
knew everybody else, so they danced. This was the
beginning; cards would come later.</p>
<p>They could all dance, and right well, too. Faces
devoid of the absorbing properties of powder quickly
shone with the exercise; complexions innocent of all
trace of pigments and the toilet arts glowed with a
healthy hue and beamed with perfect happiness.
There could be no doubt that Prudence and her
mother knew their world as well as any hostess could
wish. And it was all so easy; no formality, few
punctilios to observe––just free-and-easy good-fellowship.</p>
<p>Mrs. Malling emerged from the region of the
kitchen. She was a little heated with her exertions,
and a stray wisp or two of grey hair escaping from
beneath her quaint lace cap testified to her culinary
exertions. She had been stooping at her ovens
regardless of her appearance. She found her daughter
standing beside the door of the parlour engaged in a
desultory conversation with Peter Furrer. Prudence
hailed her mother with an air of relief, and the
monumental Peter moved heavily away.</p>
<p>“Oh, mother dear, it’s too bad of you,” exclaimed
the girl, gazing at her critically. “And after all the
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_84' name='page_84'></SPAN>84</span>
trouble I took with your cap! Look at it now. It’s
all on one side, and your hair is sticking out like––like––Timothy
grass. Stand still while I fix it.”</p>
<p>The girl’s deft fingers soon arranged her mother
afresh, the old lady protesting all the while, but
submitting patiently to the operation.</p>
<p>“There, there; you children think of nothing but
pushing and patting and tittivating. La, but one ’ud
think I was going to sit down at table with a King or
a Minister of the Church. Nobody’s going to look at
me, child––until the victuals come on. Besides, what
does it matter with neighbours? Look at old Gleichen
over there, bowing and scraping to Mrs. Ganthorn;
one would think it wasn’t his way to do nothing else.
He’s less elaborate when he’s trailing after his plough.
My, but I can’t abide such pretending. Guess some
folks think women are blind. And where’s George
Iredale? I don’t see him. Now there’d be some
excuse for his doing the grand. He’s a gentleman
born and bred.”</p>
<p>“Ah, yes, mother, we all know your weakness for
Mr. Iredale,” replied Prudence, with an affectionate
finishing pat to the grey old head. “But then he
just wouldn’t ‘bow and scrape,’ as you call it, to
Mrs. Ganthorn or anybody else. He’s not the sort
for that kind of thing. He hasn’t come yet. I’ll
bring him to you at once, dear, when he arrives,”
she finished up with a laugh.</p>
<p>“You’re a saucy hussy,” her mother returned, with
a chuckle. Then: “But I’d have taken to him as
a son. Girls never learn anything now-a-days until
they’re married to the man they fancy.”</p>
<p>“Nothing like personal experience, lady mother.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_85' name='page_85'></SPAN>85</span>
Did you ask any one’s advice when you married
father?”</p>
<p>“That I didn’t for sure, child, but it was different.
Your father, Silas, wasn’t the man to be put off with
any notions. He just said he was going to marry
me––and he did marry me. I was all sort of swept
off my feet.”</p>
<p>“But still you chose him yourself,” persisted the
girl, laughing.</p>
<p>“Well, maybe I did, child, maybe I did.”</p>
<p>“And <i>you</i> didn’t regret your own choice, mother;
so why should I?”</p>
<p>“Ah, it was different with me––quite different.
Ah, there’s some one coming in.” Hephzibah Malling
turned as she spoke, glad to be able to change the
subject. The front door was opened, and a fur-clad
figure entered. “It’s George Iredale,” she went on,
as the man removed his cap and displayed a crown
of dark-brown hair, tinged here and there with grey,
a broad high forehead and a pair of serious eyes.</p>
<p>“Come along, George.” Mrs. Malling bustled forward,
followed by her daughter. “I thought you
couldn’t get, maybe. The folks are all dancing and
dallying. You must come into the kitchen first and
have something warm. It’s a cold night.”</p>
<p>“I meant to come earlier,” replied the new arrival,
in a deep, quiet voice. “Unfortunately, just as I
was going to start, word was brought in to me that
a suspicious-looking horseman was hovering round.
You see my place is so isolated that any arrival has
to be inquired into. There are so many horse-thieves
and other dangerous characters about that I have to
be careful. Well, I rode out to ascertain who the
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_86' name='page_86'></SPAN>86</span>
intruder was, but I lost him. That delayed me.
How are you, and Prudence too? Why, it’s ages
since I’ve seen either of you. Yes, something hot is
always welcome after a long winter’s ride.”</p>
<p>George Iredale had divested himself of his coat
and over-shoes, and now followed his hostess to
the kitchen. He was a man of considerable inches,
being little short of six feet in height. He was
powerfully built, although his clothes disguised the
fact to a large extent, and his height made him look
even slim. He had a strong, keen, plain face that
was very large-featured, and would undoubtedly have
been downright ugly but for an expression of kindly
patience, not unmixed with a suspicion of amused
tolerance. It was the face of a man in whom women
like to place confidence, and with whom men never
attempt to take liberties. He had, too, a charm of
manner unusual in men living the rough life of the
prairie.</p>
<p>The tinkling strains of the waltz had ceased, and
Prudence went back to the parlour. She felt that
it was high time to set the tables for “progressive
euchre.” It was past eight and Grey had not turned
up. She began to think he intended carrying out
his threat of staying away. Well, if he chose to do
so he could. She wouldn’t ask him to do otherwise.
She felt unhappy about him in spite of her brave
thoughts.</p>
<p>Her announcement of cards was hailed with delight,
and the guests departed with a rush to search
the house for a sufficient number of small tables to
cope with the requirements of the game.</p>
<p>In the kitchen George Iredale was slowly sipping
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_87' name='page_87'></SPAN>87</span>
a steaming glass of rye whisky toddy. He was
seated in a rigid, high-backed arm-chair, well away
from the huge cook-stove, at which Hephzibah
Malling was presiding. Many kettles and saucepans
stood steaming upon the black iron top, and the
occasional opening and shutting of the ovens told of
dainties which needed the old farm-wife’s most
watchful care. Mrs. Malling’s occupation, however,
did not interrupt her flow of conversation. George
Iredale was a great favourite of hers.</p>
<p>“He’s like his poor father in some things,” she
was saying, as she lifted a batch of small biscuits
out of the oven and moved towards the ice-box with
them. “He never squealed about his misfortune to
me. Not one letter did I get asking for help. He’s
proud, is Hervey. And now I don’t know, I’m sure.”</p>
<p>She paused with her hand on the open door of the
refrigerator and looked back into the man’s face.</p>
<p>“Did he tell you any details of his failure? What
was responsible for it?” Iredale asked, poising his
glass on one of the unyielding arms of his chair.</p>
<p>“No, that he didn’t, not even that,” in a tone of
pride. “He just said he’d failed. That he was
‘broke.’ He’s too knocked up with travelling––he’s
come from Winnipeg right here––or you should hear
it from his own lips. He never blamed no one.”</p>
<p>“Ah––and you are going to help him, Mrs.
Malling. What are you going to do?”</p>
<p>“That’s where I’m fixed some. Money he can
have––all he wants.”</p>
<p>Iredale shook his head gravely.</p>
<p>“Bad policy, Mrs. Malling––until you know all the
facts.”</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_88' name='page_88'></SPAN>88</span></div>
<p>“What, my own flesh and blood, too? Well,
there–––”</p>
<p>“I mean nothing derogatory to your boy, believe
me,” interrupted Iredale, as he noted the heightened
colour of face and the angry sparkle that flashed
in the good dame’s eyes “I simply mean that it
is useless to throw good money after bad. Fruit
farming is a lottery in which the prizes go to those
who take the most tickets. In other words, it is a
question of acreage. A small man may lose his
crop through blight, drought, a hundred causes.
The larger man has a better chance by reason of
the extent of his crop. Now I should take it, you
could do better for your son by obtaining all the
facts, sorting them out and then deciding what to
do. My experience prompts me to suggest another
business. Why not the farm?”</p>
<p>All signs of resentment had left Mrs. Malling’s
face. She deposited her biscuits and returned to the
stove, standing before her guest with her hands
buried deep in her apron pockets and a delighted
smile on her face.</p>
<p>“That’s just what I thought at once,” she said.
“You’re real smart, George; why not the farm? I says
that to myself right off. I couldn’t do better, I know,
but there’s drawbacks. Yes, drawbacks. Hervey isn’t
much for the petticoats––meaning his own folks. He’s
not one to play second fiddle, so to speak. Now while
I live the farm is mine, and I learned my business
from one who could teach me––my Silas. Now I’d
make Hervey my foreman and give him a good wage.
He’d have all he wants, but he’d have to be <i>my</i> foreman.”
The old lady shook her head dubiously.</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_89' name='page_89'></SPAN>89</span></div>
<p>“And you think Hervey wouldn’t accept a subordinate
position?”</p>
<p>“He’s that proud. Just like my poor Silas,”
murmured the mother.</p>
<p>“Then he’s a fool. But you try him,” Iredale said
dryly.</p>
<p>“Do you think he might?”</p>
<p>“You never can tell.”</p>
<p>“I wonder now if you––yes, I’ll ask him.”</p>
<p>“Offer it to him, you mean.” George Iredale
smiled quietly.</p>
<p>“Yes, offer it to him,” the old lady corrected herself
thoughtfully. “But I’m forgetting my stewing
oysters, and Mistress Prudence will get going on––for
she had them sent up all the way from St. John’s––if
they’re burned.” She turned to one of the kettles
and began stirring at once. “Hervey is coming back
after he’s been to Niagara, and I’ll talk to him then.
I wish you could have seen him before he went, but
he’s abed.”</p>
<p>“Never mind, there’s time enough when he comes
back. Ah, Prudence, how is the euchre ‘progressing’?”
Iredale turned as the girl came hurriedly in.</p>
<p>“Oh, here you are. You two gossiping as usual.
Mother, it’s too bad of you to rob me of my guests.
But I came to ask for more lemonade.”</p>
<p>“Dip it out of yonder kettle, child. And you can
take George off at once. It’s high time he got at the
cards.”</p>
<p>“He’s too late, the game is nearly over. He’ll
have to sit out with Leslie. He, also, was too late.
Come along, Mr. Iredale,”––she had filled the lemonade
pitcher,––“and, mother, when shall you be ready
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_90' name='page_90'></SPAN>90</span>
with the supper? Remember, you’ve got to come
and give out the prizes to the winners before that.”</p>
<p>“Also to the losers,” put in Iredale.</p>
<p>“Yes, they must all have prizes. What time,
mother?”</p>
<p>“In an hour. And be off, the pair of you. Mary!
Mary!” the old lady called out, moving towards the
summer kitchen. “Bustle about, girl, and count down
the plates from the dresser. La, look at you,” she
went on, as the hired girl came running in; “where’s the
cap I gave you? And for good-a-mussey’s sake go
and scrub your hands. My, but girls be jades.”</p>
<p>Iredale and Prudence went off to the parlour. The
game was nearly over, and the guests were laughing
and chattering noisily. The excitement was intense.
Leslie Grey sat aloof. He was engaged in a pretence
at conversation with Sarah Gurridge, but, to judge
by the expression of his face, his temper was still
sulky or his thoughts were far away. The moment
Iredale entered the room Grey’s face lit up with
something like interest.</p>
<p>Prudence, accompanying the rancher, was quick to
observe the change. She had been prepared for
something of the sort, although the reason she assigned
to his interest was very wide of the mark. She smiled
to herself as she turned to reply to something Iredale
had just said.</p>
<p>The evening passed in boisterous jollification. And
after the prizes had been awarded supper was served.
A solid supper, just such a repast as these people
could and did appreciate. The delicacies Mrs.
Malling offered to her guests were something to be
remembered. She spared no pains, and even her
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_91' name='page_91'></SPAN>91</span>
enemies, if she had any, which is doubtful, admitted
that she could cook; such an admission amongst
the prairie folks was a testimonial of the highest
order.</p>
<p>After supper George Iredale, whose quiet manner
and serious face debarred him from the revels of the
younger men, withdrew to a small work-room which
was usually set aside on these occasions for the use of
those who desired to smoke. Leslie Grey, who had
been talking to Mrs. Malling, and who had been
watching for this opportunity, quickly followed.</p>
<p>He fondly believed that Iredale came to the farm
to thrust his attentions upon Prudence. This was
exasperating enough in itself, but when Grey, in his
righteous indignation, thought of other matters
pertaining to the owner of Lonely Ranch, his indignation
rose to boiling pitch. He meant to have it
out with him to-night.</p>
<p>Iredale had already adjusted himself into a comfortable
chintz-covered arm-chair when Grey arrived upon
the scene. A great briar pipe hung from the corner
of his strong, decided mouth, and he was smoking
thoughtfully.</p>
<p>Grey moved briskly to another chair and flung
himself into its depths with little regard for its age.
Nor did he attempt to smoke. His mind was too
active and disturbed for anything so calm and
soothing.</p>
<p>His first words indicated the condition of his
mind.</p>
<p>“Kicking up a racket in there,” he said jerkily,
indicating the parlour. “Can’t stand such a noise
when I’ve got a lot to think about.”</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_92' name='page_92'></SPAN>92</span></div>
<p>“No.” Iredale nodded his head and spoke without
removing the pipe from his mouth.</p>
<p>“We are to be married to-morrow week––Prudence
and I.”</p>
<p>“So I’ve been told. I congratulate you.”</p>
<p>Iredale looked at his companion with grave eyes.
They were quite alone in the room. He had met
Grey frequently and had learned to understand his
ways and to know his bull-headed methods. Now he
quietly waited. He had a shrewd suspicion that the
man had something unpleasant to say. Unconsciously
his teeth closed tighter upon his pipe.</p>
<p>Grey raised his eyebrows.</p>
<p>“Thanks. I hardly expected it.”</p>
<p>“And why not?” Iredale was smiling, his grey
eyes had a curious look in them––something between
quizzical amusement and surprise.</p>
<p>“Oh, I don’t know,” the other retorted with a
shrug. “There is no telling how some men will take
these things.”</p>
<p>Iredale removed his pipe, and pressed the ash
down with his little finger. The operation required the
momentary lowering of his eyes from his companion’s
face.</p>
<p>“I don’t think I understand you.”</p>
<p>Grey laughed unpleasantly.</p>
<p>“There’s not much need of comprehension. If two
men run after the same girl and one succeeds where
the other fails, the successful suitor doesn’t usually
expect congratulations from his unfortunate rival.”</p>
<p>“Supposing such to be the case in point,” Iredale
replied quietly, but with an ominous lowering of his
eyelids. “Mark you, I only say ‘supposing.’ I admit
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_93' name='page_93'></SPAN>93</span>
nothing––to you. The less successful man may surely
be honest enough, and man enough, to wish his rival
well. I have known such cases among––men.”</p>
<p>Grey twisted himself round in his chair and assumed
a truculent attitude.</p>
<p>“Notwithstanding the fact that the rival in question
never loses an opportunity of seeking out the particular
girl, and continuing his attentions after she is engaged
to the other? That may be the way among––men.
But not honest men.”</p>
<p>The expression of Iredale’s face remained quite
calm. Only his eyes––keen, direct-gazing eyes––lit
up with an angry sparkle. He drew a little more
rapidly at his pipe, perhaps, but he spoke quietly still.
He quite understood that Grey intended forcing a
quarrel upon him.</p>
<p>“I shall not pretend to misunderstand you, Grey.
Your manner puts that out of the question. You are
unwarrantably accusing me of a most ungentlemanly
proceeding. Such an accusation being made by any
one––what shall I say?––more responsible than you,
I should take considerable notice of; as it is, it is
hardly worth my consideration. You are at best a
blunderer. I should pause before I replied had I the
misfortune to be you, and try to recollect where you
are. If you wish to quarrel there is time and place
for so doing.”</p>
<p>Iredale’s words stung Leslie Grey to the quick. His
irresponsible temper fairly jumped within him, his
eyes danced with rage, and he could scarcely find
words to express himself.</p>
<p>“You may sneer as much as you like,” he at length
blurted out, “but you cannot deny that your visits to
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_94' name='page_94'></SPAN>94</span>
this house are paid with the object of addressing my
affianced wife. You are right when you describe such
conduct as ungentlemanly. You are no gentleman!
But I do not suppose that the man who owns Lonely
Ranch will feel the sting of being considered a––a––cad
or anything else.”</p>
<p>“Stop!” Iredale was roused, and there was no
mistaking the set of his square jaw and the compression
between his brows. “You have gone a step too
far. You shall apologize or–––”</p>
<p>“Stop––eh? You may well demand that I should––stop,
Mr. George Iredale. Were I to go on you
would have a distinctly bad time of it. But my
present consideration is not with the concerns of
Lonely Ranch, but only with your visits here, which
shall cease from to-day out. And as for apologizing
for anything I have said, I’ll see you damned
first.”</p>
<p>There was a pause; a breathless pause. The two
men confronted each other, both held calm by a
strength which a moment ago would have seemed
impossible in at least one of them.</p>
<p>Grey’s face worked painfully with suppressed
excitement, but he gripped himself. George Iredale
was calm under the effort of swift thought. He was
the first to break the silence, and he did so in a voice
well modulated and under perfect control. But the
mouthpiece of his pipe was nearly bitten through.</p>
<p>“Now I shall be glad if you will go on. You
apparently have further charges to make against me.
I hardly know whether I am in the presence of a
madman or a fool. One or the other, I am sure.
You may as well make your charges at once. You
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_95' name='page_95'></SPAN>95</span>
will certainly answer for all you have already said, so
make the list of your accusations complete before–––”</p>
<p>“You fool!” hissed Grey, goaded to the last
extremity of patience. His headlong nature could
not long endure restraint. Now his words came with
a blind rush.</p>
<p>“Do you think I’d speak without being sure of
my ground? Do you think, because other men who
have occupied the position which is mine at Ainsley
have been blind, that I am? Lonely Ranch; a fitting
title for your place,” with a sneer. “Lonely! in
neighbourhood, yes, but not as regards its owner.
You are wealthy, probably the wealthiest man in
the province of Manitoba; why, that alone should
have been sufficient to set the hounds of the law on
your trail. I know the secret of Lonely Ranch. I
have watched day after day the notice you have
inserted in the <i>Free Press</i>––‘Yellow booming––slump
in Grey.’ Nor have I rested until I discovered your
secret. I shall make no charge here beyond what I
have said, but–––”</p>
<p>He suddenly broke off, awakening from his blind
rage to the fact of what he was doing. His mouth
shut like a trap, and beads of perspiration broke out
upon his forehead. His eyes lowered before the
ironical gaze of his companion. Thus he sat for a
moment a prey to futile regrets. His anger had
undone him. The sound of a short laugh fell upon
his ears, and, as though drawn by a magnet, his eyes
were once more turned on the face of the rancher.</p>
<p>“I was not sure which it was,” said Iredale dryly;
“whether you were a fool or a madman. Now
I know. I had hoped that it was madness. There
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_96' name='page_96'></SPAN>96</span>
is hope for a madman, but none for a fool. Thank
you, Grey, for the information you have supplied
me with. Your folly has defeated your ends. Remember
this. You will never be able to use the
‘Secret’––as you are pleased to call it––of Lonely
Ranch. I will take good care of that. And now, as
I hear sounds of people running up-stairs, we will
postpone further discussion. This interview has been
prolonged sufficiently––more than sufficiently for
you.”</p>
<p>Iredale rose from his chair; to all appearance he
was quite undisturbed. Grey’s condition was exactly
the reverse.</p>
<p>He, too, rose from his seat. There was a sound of
some one approaching the door. Grey stepped up to
his companion and put his mouth close to his ear.</p>
<p>“Don’t forget that you cannot conceal the traces
that are round your––ranch. Traces which are unmistakable
to those who have an inkling of the truth.”</p>
<p>“No, but I can take steps which will effectually
nullify the exertions you have been put to. Remember
you said I was wealthy. I am tired of your stupid
long-winded talk.”</p>
<p>Iredale turned away with a movement of disgust
and irritation just as the door opened and Prudence
came in.</p>
<p>“Ah, here you are, you two. I have been wondering
where you were all this time. Do you know the
people are going home?”</p>
<p>The girl ceased speaking abruptly and looked
keenly at the two men before her. Iredale was
smiling; Grey was gazing down at the stove, and
apparently not listening to her.</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_97' name='page_97'></SPAN>97</span></div>
<p>Prudence saw that something was wrong, but she
had no suspicion of the truth. She wondered; then
she delivered a message she had brought and dismissed
Iredale.</p>
<p>“Mother wants to see you, Mr. Iredale; something
about Hervey.”</p>
<p>“I will go to her at once.” And the owner of
Lonely Ranch passed out of the room.</p>
<p>The moment the door closed behind him the girl
turned anxiously to her lover.</p>
<p>“What is it, Leslie dear? You are not angry with
me still?”</p>
<p>The man laughed mirthlessly.</p>
<p>“Angry? No, child. I wonder if I––no, better
not. It’s time to be off. Give me a kiss, and I’ll say
good-night.”</p>
<hr class='toprule' />
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_98' name='page_98'></SPAN>98</span>
<SPAN name='CHAPTER_VII_LESLIE_GREY_FULFILS_HIS_DESTINY' id='CHAPTER_VII_LESLIE_GREY_FULFILS_HIS_DESTINY'></SPAN>
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