<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2>
<h3>THE BREAKING OF THE STORM</h3>
<p>The master of Lonely Ranch was seated before
the table in his unpretentious sitting-room. Before
him were piled a number of open account-books, and
books containing matters relating to the business of
his ranch.</p>
<p>He was not looking at them now, but sat gazing
at the blank wall in front of him with thoughtful,
introspective eyes. His chin was resting upon his
clenched hands, and his elbows were propped upon
the table. He was sitting with his shirt-sleeves
rolled up above his elbows, for the day was hot and
the air was close and heavy. On one hand the
window was wide open, but no jarring sounds came
in to disturb the thinker. The door on the other
side was also open wide. George Iredale showed
no desire for secrecy. His attitude was that of a
man who feels himself to be perfectly safe-guarded
against any sort of surprise. Thus he sat in the
quiet of the oppressive heat thinking of many things
which chiefly concerned his life in the valley of Owl
Hoot.</p>
<p>He had been going over the accounts which
represented his fifteen years of labour in that quiet
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_203' name='page_203'></SPAN>203</span>
corner of the great Dominion, and the perusal had
given him a world of satisfaction. Fifteen years ago
he had first settled in the valley. He had acquired
the land for a mere song; for no one would look
at the region of Owl Hoot as a district suitable
either for stock-raising or for the cultivation of
grain. But he had seen possibilities in the place––possibilities
which had since been realized even
beyond his expectations. His sense of humour was
tickled as he thought of the cattle he had first
brought to the ranch––a herd of old cows which he
had picked up cheap somewhere out West at the
foot of the Rockies. He almost laughed aloud as
he thought of the way in which he had fostered and
added to the weird, stupid legends of the place,
and how he had never failed to urge the undesirability
of his neighbourhood for any sort of agriculture.
And thus for fifteen years he had kept
the surrounding country clear of inquisitive settlers.
Life had been very pleasant, quiet, monotonous, and
profitable for him, and, as he thought of it all, his
eyes drooped again to his books before him, and
he gazed upon a sea of entries in a long, thick,
narrow volume which bore on the cover the legend––</p>
<p class='center'>OPIUM.</p>
<p>Yes, he never attempted to disguise from himself
the nature of his calling. He plastered neither
himself nor his trade with thick coatings of whitewash.
He knew what he was, and faced the offensive
title with perfect equanimity. He was a smuggler,
probably the largest operator in the illicit traffic of
opium smuggling, and the most successful importer
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_204' name='page_204'></SPAN>204</span>
of Chinese along the whole extent of the American
border. He knew that the penitentiary was yearning
for him; and he knew that every moment of
his life was shadowed by the threat of penal servitude.
And in the meantime he was storing up his wealth,
not in driblets, dependent upon the seasons for their
extent, but in huge sums which were proportionate
to the risks he was prepared to run.</p>
<p>And his risks had been many, and his escapes
narrow and frequent. But he had hitherto evaded
the law, and now the time had come when he
intended to throw it all up––to blot out at one
sweep the traces of those fifteen prosperous years,
and settle down to enjoy the proceeds of his toil.</p>
<p>It was only after much thought and after months
of deliberation that he had arrived at this decision.
For this man revelled in his calling with an enthusiasm
which was worthy of an honest object.
He was not a man whose natural inclinations leant
towards law-breaking; far from it. Outside of his
trade he lived a cleaner life than many a so-called
law-abiding citizen. The risks he ran, the excitement
of contraband trade had a fatal fascination
which was as the breath of life to him; a fascination
which, with all his strength of mind in every other
direction, he was as powerless to resist as were the
consumers powerless to resist the fascinations of the
drug he purveyed.</p>
<p>But now he stood face to face with a contingency
he had never taken into his considerations. He had
fallen a victim to man’s passion for a woman; and
he had been forced to a choice between the two
things. Either he must renounce all thoughts of
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_205' name='page_205'></SPAN>205</span>
Prudence Malling, or he must marry her, and break from
all his old associations. To a man of Iredale’s disposition
the two things were quite incompatible. The
steady growth of his love for this girl, a love which
absorbed all that was best in his deep, strong nature,
had weighed heavily in the balance; and, reluctant
though the master of Lonely Ranch was to sever
himself from the traffic which had afforded him so
much wealth, and so many years of real, living
moments, his decision had been taken with calm
deliberation; the fiat had gone forth. Henceforth
the traffic in yellow would know him no more.</p>
<p>He rose from his seat, and crossing the room
stood gazing out of the open window. Finally his
eyes were turned up towards the heavy banking of
storm-clouds which hovered low over the valley.</p>
<p>Already the greater portion of his plans had been
carefully laid. They had been costly for many
reasons. His agents were men who required to be
dealt with liberally. However, everything had been
satisfactorily settled. Now only remained the disposal
of the ranch. This was rather a delicate matter for
obvious reasons. He wished to effectually obliterate
all traces of the traffic he had carried on there.</p>
<p>He went back to the table and picked up an
official-looking letter. It was a communication from
Robb Chillingwood, written on the municipal notepaper
of Ainsley.</p>
<p>He read the letter carefully through.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>“<span class='smcap'>My dear Mr. Iredale</span>,”</p>
<p>“There is a man named Gordon Duffield
stopping at the hotel here, who has lately arrived
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_206' name='page_206'></SPAN>206</span>
from Scotland. I have effected the sale of the
Dominion Ranch––you know, the German, Grieg’s,
old place––to him. He is a man of considerable
means, and is going in largely for stock-raising. He
has commissioned me to buy something like five
thousand head of cows and two-year-old steers for
him. His bulls he brought out with him. You will
understand the difficulty I shall have in obtaining
such a bunch of suitable animals; and I thought you
might have some surplus stock that you wish to
dispose of at a reasonable price. You might let me
know by return if such is the case, always bearing
in mind when you make your quotations that the
gentleman hails from old Scotia. There is shortly
to be a great boom in emigration from both the old
country and the States, and I am now combining the
business of land agent with my other duties, and I
find it a paying concern. Let me know about the
cattle at your earliest convenience.</p>
<p class='ralign'>“Yours truly,<span class='rindent16'> </span><br/>
“<span class='smcap'>Robb Chillingwood.</span>”<span class='rindent2'> </span></p>
</blockquote>
<p>Iredale smiled as he read the letter over.</p>
<p>“Comes at an opportune moment,” he said to
himself. “Surplus stock, eh? Well, I think I can
offer him all the stock he needs at a price which will
meet with the approval of even a canny Scot. I’ll
write him at once.”</p>
<p>He seated himself at his table and wrote a long
letter asking Chillingwood to come out and see him,
and, at the same time, offering to dispose of the stock
of Lonely Ranch. He sealed the letter, and then
returned his account-books to their hiding-place
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_207' name='page_207'></SPAN>207</span>
behind the bookcase. Then he went to the door
and summoned his head man.</p>
<p>In spite of the habit of years, Iredale was not without
a strong sense of relief as he reviewed the
progress of the disestablishment of the ranch. He
remembered how narrowly he had escaped from
Leslie Grey less than a year ago, and now that he had
begun to burn his boats he was eager to get through
with the process.</p>
<p>The ferret-faced Chintz framed himself in the
doorway.</p>
<p>“My horse!” demanded his master. “And, Chintz,
I want you to take this letter to Lakeville and post it
with your own hands. You understand?”</p>
<p>The little man nodded his head.</p>
<p>“Good!” Iredale paused thoughtfully. “Chintz,”
he went on a moment later, “we’ve finished with
opium. We retire into private life from now out––you
and I. We are going to leave Owl Hoot. How
does that suit you?”</p>
<p>The little man cheerfully nodded, and twisted his
face into a squinting grimace intended for a pleasant
smile. Then his eyebrows went up inquiringly.
Iredale took his meaning at once.</p>
<p>“I don’t know where we are going as yet. But
you’ll go with me. I want you to remain my ‘head
man.’”</p>
<p>Chintz nodded. There could be no doubt from his
expression that he was devoted to his master.</p>
<p>“Right. Send my horse round at once. I am
going to Loon Dyke, and shall be back for supper.”</p>
<p>The man departed, and the rancher prepared for his
ride.</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_208' name='page_208'></SPAN>208</span></div>
<p>When George Iredale set out for Loon Dyke the
valley was shrouded in the gloom of coming storm.
But he knew the peculiarities of the climate too well
to be alarmed. The storm, he judged, would not break
until nearly sundown, and then it would only be short
and sharp. In the meantime he would have reached
the farm. There was a curious, unconscious rapidity
in his way of settling up his affairs. It was as though
some strange power were urging him to haste. This
may have been the result of the man’s character, for
he was of a strikingly vigorous nature. He had
put the machinery in motion, and now he primed
it with the oil of eager desire to see the work swiftly
carried out.</p>
<p>As his horse galloped over the prairie––he took the
direct route of the crow’s flight––his thoughts centred
upon the object of his visit. He saw nothing of the
pleasant fields and pastures through which his journey
took him. The threat of coming storm was nothing
to him. For all heed he paid to it the sky might have
been of a tropical blue. The ruffling prairie chicken
rose lazily in their coveys, with their crops well filled
with the gleanings of the harvested wheat fields, but
he scarcely even saw them. All he saw was the sweet,
dark face of the girl to whom he intended to put the
question which women most love to hear; whether it
be put by the man of their choice or by some one for
whom they care not a cent. He had always longed
for this day to come, but, until now, had never seen
how such could ever dawn for him. It had been a
great wrench to sever himself from the past, but his
decision once taken his heart was filled with thankfulness,
and never had he felt so free from care as now.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_209' name='page_209'></SPAN>209</span>
He realized all that a lover may realize of his own
unworthiness, but he allowed himself no extravagances
of thought in this direction. Prudence was a good
woman, he knew, and he intended, if Fate so willed,
to devote the rest of his life to her happiness. As he
drew near to his destination his heart beat a shade
faster, and doubts began to assail him. He found
himself speculating upon his chances of success. He
believed that the daughter of Hephzibah Malling
regarded him with favour, but nothing had gone
before to give him any clue to her maiden feelings.
He wondered doubtfully, and, in proportion, his
nervousness increased.</p>
<p>Out upon the trail, at a distance, he saw a horseman
riding away from the farm; he did not even trouble
about the rider’s identity. The strong, reckless nature,
concealed beneath his quiet exterior, urged him on to
learn his fate. Nothing mattered to him now but his
sentence as pronounced by the child of the prairie
whose love he sought.</p>
<p>There were three occupants of the sitting-room at
the farm. Prudence and Alice Gordon were at the
table, which was covered by a litter of tweed dress
material and paper patterns. Prudence was struggling
with a maze of skirt-folds, under which a sewing-machine
was almost buried. Alice was cutting and
pinning and basting seams at the other end of the
table. Sarah Gurridge was standing beside the open
window watching the rising of the storm.</p>
<p>Conversation came spasmodically. The girls were
intent upon their work.</p>
<p>“It’s all very well to have new dresses,” said Prudence,
with an impatient tug at the material on which
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_210' name='page_210'></SPAN>210</span>
the machine was operating, “but I’m afraid half the
pleasure of them is absorbed by the process of ‘making.’
Oh, these endless seams! And I don’t believe a single
one of them is straight. I feel quite hopeless.”</p>
<p>“Cheer up, Prue,” said Alice, without looking up.
She herself was endeavouring to set a wristband
pattern upon a piece of stuff so that she could get the
two bands out of barely enough cloth for one. “You
should use more dash when working a machine.
When you are turning it, imagine you are driving a
‘through mail’ to the coast and have to make up
time. The seams will come all right.”</p>
<p>“Yes; and break cotton and needles, and––and land
the engine over the side of a cut-bank, or run down a
gang of plate-layers or something. There now, I’ve
run clean off the cloth. I wish you wouldn’t talk so
much.”</p>
<p>The two girls laughed whilst they joined efforts in
righting the catastrophe.</p>
<p>“Isn’t it getting dark?” said Alice, when Prudence
had once more settled to work.</p>
<p>Sarah spoke without turning from the window.</p>
<p>“The storm’s banking, child. The lightning is
already flashing over Owl Hoot way. Hervey will
only just escape it.”</p>
<p>“What did he want to go over to the ranch for?”
asked Prudence. “He never seems to go anywhere
else now. I should think Mr. Iredale will get sick of
having him always round.”</p>
<p>“My dear,” observed Sarah, with unction, “when
two men enjoy destroying the harmless life which the
good God has set upon the prairie, they never tire of
one another’s society. Men who would disdain to
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_211' name='page_211'></SPAN>211</span>
black a pair of boots would not hesitate to crawl
about in the mud and damp reeds of a swamp at daybreak
to slaughter a few innocent ducks. There is
a bond amongst sportsmen which is stronger than all
the vows made at any altar. Hervey’s delight in
destroying life is almost inhuman. I trust he never
shoots sitting game.”</p>
<p>“I should hope not,” said Prudence. “I would
never own him as a brother if he did. Hello, Neche,”
as the door was pushed slowly open and the great
husky limped heavily into the room. The animal
looked round him in a dignified, unblinking way, and
then came over to Prudence’s side and leisurely curled
himself up on the skirt of her dress. “Say, old boy,”
she added, looking down at the recumbent form, “if
mother comes in and finds you here you’ll leave the
room hurriedly.”</p>
<p>Alice laid her scissors down and looked over at
her friend.</p>
<p>“Hervey seems quieter than ever lately. He won’t
even take the trouble to quarrel.”</p>
<p>“And a good thing too,” said Prudence shortly.</p>
<p>Sarah turned and surveyed the two girls for a
moment, an amused expression was in her dreamy
eyes. Then she turned back to the window as the
first distant growl of the coming storm made itself
heard.</p>
<p>“Hervey only quarrels when his mind is in a state
of stagnation. The mind of a man is very like a
pool of water. Let it stand, and it corrodes with
matter which throws off offensive odours. The
longer it stands the worse state it gets into. Set
the water in motion, turn it into a running stream,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_212' name='page_212'></SPAN>212</span>
and it at once cleanses itself. Hervey’s mind has
been lately set in motion. I have noticed the change.”</p>
<p>“He has certainly become less offensive of late,”
said Alice. “I wonder what has changed him.”</p>
<p>“Food for mental occupation,” said Sarah.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>“‘A life monotonous, unrelieved, breeds selfish discontent,
Dead’ning a mind to lofty thought for which by nature meant.’”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Prudence brought the machine to a standstill, and
propping one elbow upon the table rested her chin
upon her hand.</p>
<p>“I believe you are right, Aunt Sarah,” she said
slowly. “Hervey’s certainly found something which
has set him thinking. I rather fancy I know––or
can guess––what it is that has roused him.”</p>
<p>The old lady turned from the window and gazed
curiously at her pupil. She was keenly interested.
The recreation of her life was the observation of her
kind. Her logic and philosophy may not always
have been sound, but she never failed to arrive somewhere
in the region of the truth. The recent change
in Hervey had puzzled her.</p>
<p>“He asked me yesterday to let him see that notice
in the <i>Free Press</i> which appeared when Leslie was
murdered,” Prudence went on. “He also asked me
what Leslie’s dying words were. He insisted on the
exact words.”</p>
<p>“The storm will break soon,” observed Sarah.
She had turned away to the window.</p>
<p>“I wonder,” said Alice; “perhaps he has discovered–––”
She broke off meaningly.</p>
<p>“That’s what I think,” said Prudence.</p>
<p>Sarah shook her head; but what she meant to
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_213' name='page_213'></SPAN>213</span>
convey was uncertain, for she had her back turned
and she said nothing at the moment. Prudence restarted
her machine and Alice reluctantly bent over
her patterns. Sarah moved back from the window.
She saw a horseman galloping over the prairie in the
direction of the house. She had recognized Iredale.</p>
<p>“Girls,” she said, her soft eyes turning on Prudence’s
bent head, “I really think some one should be helping
the mother. This is baking day.” Prudence looked
up with an expression of contrition. “No––no, not
you, child. You stay here and get on with your
fandangles and dressmaking. I’ll go and help her.”</p>
<p>Without waiting for a reply she darted off. She
had no intention of having her innocent little scheme
upset. The moment after her departure the clatter
of horse’s hoofs came in through the open window.
Alice, looking up, saw Iredale dismounting from his
horse. She jumped up to go to the front door.</p>
<p>“Here’s Mr. Iredale!” she exclaimed. Then: “So
he’s returned home. I’m so glad. One scarcely
knows the place without him.”</p>
<p>She dashed out to meet him, and, a moment later,
returned ushering him in.</p>
<p>“Mr. George Iredale,” she announced, with mock
ceremony. Then she stood aside to allow him to
pass, bowing low as he entered the room. She stood
for a moment smiling upon the burly figure. She
noted how the plain features lit up at the sight of
the girl bending over the sewing-machine. Then she
gave herself an obvious cue.</p>
<p>“I’ll go and call mother Hephzy,” she said, and
retreated hastily to the bake-house.</p>
<p>Iredale moved over to where Prudence was sitting
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_214' name='page_214'></SPAN>214</span>
She had ceased work to greet him, but she did not
rise from the table. Neche surveyed the intruder,
grunted and closed his eyes again. Prudence was
half inclined to resent Alice’s sudden departure.
Alice was in her confidence; she knew her feelings
as regarded George Iredale. She considered her
friend’s action was unkind.</p>
<p>“You mustn’t let me disturb you, Prudence,” Iredale
said in his low, pleasant voice. “What is this”––fingering
the material––“a new fall dress? Wonderful
how you can cope with the intricacies of the manufacture
of such things. It would be a very sorry day
for me if I were left to cut my own coats.” He
laughed nervously.</p>
<p>Prudence detected an unusual eagerness in his voice,
and something warned her that this man had come
over that afternoon to see her alone. She joined in
the laugh, but her eyes remained quite serious.</p>
<p>“When did you come back from town?” she asked,
after a pause.</p>
<p>“I haven’t been to town. I’ve been across the
border. My business took me into Minnesota.”</p>
<p>“Oh, I thought you had been to Winnipeg.” She
stooped and caressed the great dog at her feet.</p>
<p>Iredale shook his head. A vivid flash of lightning
shot across the open window, and a crash of thunder
followed it immediately. The storm was breaking
at last.</p>
<p>“I’ll close the window.” Iredale moved across the
room to do so. Prudence looked after him. When
he returned he sat himself in Alice’s chair, having
brought it nearer to the machine. Then followed a
long silence while the machine rattled down a seam.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_215' name='page_215'></SPAN>215</span>
The man watched the nimble fingers intently as they
guided the material under the needle. The bent
head prevented him seeing more than the barest
outline of the girl’s cheek, but he seemed content.
Now that the moment had arrived for him to speak,
he was quite master of himself.</p>
<p>“Prudence,” he began, at last, “I am giving up
my ranch. I have been making the necessary
arrangements. I have done with money-making.”</p>
<p>“Really.” The girl looked up sharply, then down
again at her work. She had encountered the steady
gaze of the man’s earnest eyes. “Are you going
to––to leave us?” She was conscious of the lameness
of her question.</p>
<p>“I don’t quite know. That depends largely upon
circumstances. I am certainly about to seek pleasant
places, but I cannot tell yet where those pleasant
places will be found. Perhaps you will help me.”</p>
<p>“How?” The seam swerved out into a great bow,
and Prudence was forced to go back over it.</p>
<p>“Easily enough, if you will.”</p>
<p>The girl did not answer, but busied herself with the
manipulation of her machine. Her face had paled,
and her heart was thumping in great pulsations.
Iredale went on. He had assumed his characteristic
composure. What fire burned beneath his calm
exterior, it would have needed the discerning eyes
of Sarah Gurridge to detect, for, beyond the occasional
flashing of his quiet grey eyes, there was little or no
outward sign.</p>
<p>“I have known you for a good many years, child;
years which have helped to put a few grey hairs on
my head, it is true, but still years which have taught
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_216' name='page_216'></SPAN>216</span>
me something which I never dreamed of learning out
here on the prairie. They have taught me that such
a thing as love exists for every man on this earth,
and that somewhere in this world there is a woman
who can inspire him with feelings which make the
pettinesses of his own solitary existence seem very
small indeed. I have learned that man was not
made to live alone, but that a certain woman must
share his life with him, or that life is an utterly worthless
thing. I have learned that there is but one
woman in the world who can help me to the better,
loftier aspirations of man, and that woman is––you,
Prudence.”</p>
<p>The girl had ceased to work, and was staring
straight in front of her out of the window, where the
vivid lightning was now flashing incessantly. As
Iredale pronounced the last words she shook her head
slowly––almost helplessly. The man had leaned
forward in his chair, and his elbows rested on his
parted knees, and his hands were tightly clasped.</p>
<p>“Don’t shake your head, dear,” he went on, with
persuasive earnestness. “Hear me out first, and then
you shall give me your decision. I know I am much
older than you, but surely that disparity need not
stand in our way. I dare say I have many more
years of life yet left than lots of younger men. Besides,
I am rich––very rich. With me you can live the life
you choose. If you wish to stay here on the prairie,
why, you shall have the most perfect farm that money
can buy; if, on the other hand, you choose to see the
world, you only have to say the word. Prudence, I
know I am not a very attractive man. I have little
to recommend me, and my life has not always been
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_217' name='page_217'></SPAN>217</span>
spent as perhaps it should have been; but I love you
very dearly, and my future shall be devoted to your
happiness. Will you be my wife?”</p>
<p>There was a deafening crash of thunder which
seemed to come from directly overhead. The dog
started up with a growl. Then he stood looking up
into the girl’s face. The dying reverberations slowly
rolled away and left the room in deathly silence.
The serious light in the girl’s eyes was augmented by
the decided set of her mouth. She kept her face
studiously turned from Iredale, who, observing with
all the intuition of a man in deadly earnest, read in
her expression something of what his answer was
to be.</p>
<p>“Can you not––do you not care for me sufficiently?”</p>
<p>The words contained such a world of appeal that
Prudence felt herself forced to turn in his direction.
She now looked squarely into his eyes, nor was there
the faintest suspicion of embarrassment in her manner.
The moment had come when she must choose between
herself and her self-imposed duty. She knew that
she loved Iredale, but––she checked something which
sounded very like a sigh. She had listened to the
precepts of Sarah Gurridge all her life, and, in consequence,
she had learned to regard her duty before
all things. She now conceived she had a great duty
to perform. She felt so helpless––so feeble in the
matter; but the voice of conscience held her to her
mistaken course.</p>
<p>“I believe I love you; I am sure I care for you
very, very much, but–––”</p>
<p>“Then you will marry me.” The man reached out
to take her hand, but she drew it back. His eager
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_218' name='page_218'></SPAN>218</span>
eyes shone in the stormy darkness in which the room
was bathed.</p>
<p>She shook her head.</p>
<p>“When Leslie Grey was murdered I made a vow
that I would not rest until the murderer was brought
to justice. My vow is unfulfilled. I could not marry
you and be happy while this is so. Do you know
what marriage with you would mean? Simply that
I should make no effort to fulfil my vow to the dead.
I cannot marry you now.”</p>
<p>Iredale was staggered by the woeful wrong-mindedness
under which he considered she was labouring.
For a moment he could scarcely find words to express
himself.</p>
<p>“But––but surely, child, you are not going to let
this phantom of duty come between us? Oh, you
can never do such a thing! Besides, we would work
together; we would not leave a stone unturned to
discover the wretch who did him to death–––”</p>
<p>He broke off. Prudence answered swiftly, and the
set of her face seemed to grow harder as she felt the
difficulty of abiding by her resolve.</p>
<p>“This is no phantom of duty, George. It is very
much a reality. I cannot marry you––until––until–––”</p>
<p>Iredale was smiling now. The shock of the girl’s
strange decision had passed. He saw something of
the motive underlying it. Her sense of duty seemed
to have warped her judgment, and, with quiet firmness,
he meant to set it aside.</p>
<p>“And this is the only reason for refusing me?” he
asked. He had become serious again; he seemed
merely to be seeking assurance.</p>
<p>“Yes. Oh, George, can’t you see how it is?” She
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_219' name='page_219'></SPAN>219</span>
gazed appealingly into his face. And the man had
to keep a very tight hold upon his feelings.</p>
<p>“I am afraid I am a little dense, child,” he said
gravely.</p>
<p>“I must make you understand,” Prudence went
on with nervous haste. Her conscience urged her
forward, whilst her love prompted her to set aside all
recollection of the dead and to bask in the love this
man offered her. She was a simple, womanly soul,
trying with all the strength of her honest purpose to
resist the dictates of her love, and to do that which
seemed right in her own eyes. The task she had set
herself had seemed easy when she had spoken of it to
Alice, but now in the face of this man’s love, in the
face of her own self-realization, it seemed beyond her
strength. “Listen to me, and you will see for yourself
that I must not marry you––yet. I believed that
I loved Leslie Grey truly, fondly. As I look back
now I am sure I did. I was never happy but when
I was with him. He seemed so strong and resolute.
I never had a moment in which to doubt myself.
Then, when he died, the agony I suffered was something
too dreadful to contemplate. As he lay on the
little bed with his life slowly ebbing, and I watched
him dying by inches, I was filled with such horror and
despair that I thought surely I should go mad. Then
it dawned on me that he had been murdered, and my
anguish turned to a dreadful feeling of rage and longing
to avenge him. Never in my life did I experience
such terrible passion as at that moment. I believe at
the time I really was mad. The one thought in my
mind was, ‘Who––who has done this thing?’ Then
Leslie died, and in his death agony he spoke and
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_220' name='page_220'></SPAN>220</span>
told me, as well as his poor gasping faculties could
tell me, what had happened. His words were unintelligible
to every one except me. And those words
formed a clue to the assassin’s identity. By his bedside
I swore to avenge him. Never would I rest until
my oath was carried out. As you know, after that I
became ill and went away. And, oh, the shame of it,
during those months of rest and illness I forgot Leslie
Grey, I forgot my vow. I forgot everything that
claimed my duty. Think of it––the shame, the
shallow heartlessness, the fickle nature which is mine.
I, who had loved him as I believed no girl had ever
loved, had forgotten him as though he had never come
into my life.”</p>
<p>Iredale nodded comprehensively as the girl paused.</p>
<p>“Then you came into my life,” Prudence went on.
Her face was turned towards the window now, outside
of which she saw the tongues of lightning playing
across the sky. “Time went on, and slowly something
crept into my heart which made me realize my shortcomings.
Gradually my conduct was revealed to me
in its true colours, and I saw myself as I really was––a
heartless, worthless creature, so despicable, even to
myself, as to make me shudder when I contemplated
the future. Let me be honest now, at least. I knew
that I loved you, George, that is”––bitterly––“as far as
I was capable of love; but what sort of affection was
mine to give to anybody? I could not trust myself––I
despised myself. My conscience cried out.
Leslie’s unavenged death still remained. My vow
was still unfulfilled. Knowing this, how could I
believe in this new love which had come to me? No,
I could not. And it was then that I saw what I must
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_221' name='page_221'></SPAN>221</span>
do. Before I could ever dream of love I must redeem
the pledge I made at Leslie’s deathbed. That alone
could restore my faith in myself. I know that it is
almost impossible to convey to you all that I have
thought upon the matter; but, believe me, I can never
marry while Leslie remains unavenged.”</p>
<p>Tears stood in the girl’s eyes as she finished up
her curiously twisted self-accusations. And the
sincerity of her words was not to be doubted for
a moment. Iredale had listened wonderingly, and
he marvelled to himself at the wonders of perspective
in a woman’s mind.</p>
<p>“And you are prepared to undertake the matter––alone?”</p>
<p>“Mother is helping me––it costs money.”</p>
<p>“Just so. But would not a man’s help be of
greater importance than your mother’s? Don’t you
think that your husband’s assistance might help you
far more? That it might be able to lighten the
burden of this self-imposed labour. Tut, tut, child.
Because of your vow it should not deter you from
marriage, especially when your husband is not only
ready, but most willing to assist you in clearing
up the mystery, and avenging Leslie Grey. As
regards the quality”––with a quiet smile––“of your
regard, well, come, you love me, little girl, on
your own confession, and if you have no graver
scruples than you have offered, then you must––marry
me.”</p>
<p>Iredale leant forward and took the girl’s two hands
in his. This time she made no resistance. She
allowed them to rest in his broad palms, and, in spite
of all her protests, felt ineffably happy.</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_222' name='page_222'></SPAN>222</span></div>
<p>At last she drew them away and shook her head
weakly.</p>
<p>“No, it is no good, George. You must not be
burdened with my undertaking. I cannot consent
to such a thing. It is only your generosity and
kindness which make you look at the matter so
lightly. You would regret your decision later on,
and then–––No, mother and I will see the matter
through. We have already secured the services of
the smartest detective in Winnipeg, and he is working
upon the only clue we possess.”</p>
<p>“But I insist,” said Iredale, with a smile which
made his plain features almost handsome. “And,
Prue, I am going to tell your mother that you have
engaged yourself to me, and that I am a new recruit,
fortune as well, in the work. No––” holding up his
hand as the girl was about to protest again––“no
objections, sweetheart. And, before we go further,
tell me of this clue.”</p>
<p>Prudence smiled happily. She had done her duty;
she had laid bare her heart to this man. She had
spared herself in no way. She had let him see, she
told herself, the sort of girl she was. He still cared
for her; he still wished to marry her. She bowed
her will to his quiet decision.</p>
<p>“It is not much to go upon, but, as Deane, that
is the detective, says, it is a decided clue.”</p>
<p>She rose from her seat and walked over to a small
work-table. At that moment the house shook to its
very foundations with a dreadful crash of thunder.
Neche, who had moved with her, leapt fiercely at the
window as though flying at some invisible enemy.
The girl called him to her side, then she stood
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_223' name='page_223'></SPAN>223</span>
trembling. Flash after flash of lightning blazed in
the heavens, and she covered her eyes with her hands,
whilst the thunder seemed as though it would rend
the earth from end to end. Iredale was at her side
in an instant, and his arm was about her, and he drew
her head upon his shoulder. Instantly her nerve
was restored, and, as the noise passed, she quietly
released herself. Then, stooping, she opened the
drawer of the table and produced a torn copy of the
Winnipeg <i>Free Press</i>. She held out the paper and
pointed to the personal column.</p>
<p>“See,” she said, with her index finger upon the
second line of the column. “‘Yellow booming––slump
in Grey.’ Those who are responsible for that
message, whatever it may mean, are also responsible
for Leslie’s death.”</p>
<p>Iredale’s eyes were fixed with a terrible fascination
upon the print. A breath escaped him which sounded
almost like a gasp. His hands clenched at his sides,
and he stood like one turned into stone.</p>
<p>“How––how do you know this?” he asked, in a
tense, hoarse voice.</p>
<p>“Leslie said so with his last dying breath.”</p>
<p>There came no answering word to the girl’s statement.
Iredale did not move. His eyes were still
upon the paper. The silence of death reigned in
the room. Even the storm seemed suddenly to have
ceased; only was there the incessant swish of the
torrential rain outside.</p>
<p>“That is the clue poor Leslie gave me.”</p>
<p>“Ah!”</p>
<p>“What do you think?”</p>
<p>“You must give me time to think.”</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_224' name='page_224'></SPAN>224</span></div>
<p>Iredale’s mouth was parched. His voice sounded
strange in his own ears. For the moment he could
scarcely realize his position. An overwhelming
horror was upon him. Suddenly he turned.</p>
<p>“What is the date of that paper?”</p>
<p>“A few days before Leslie’s death. But this notice
has appeared many times since––which will make
our task the easier.”</p>
<p>“Yes, it will make our task the easier.”</p>
<p>Another pause, which was protracted until the
silence could almost be felt. Then Prudence spoke.</p>
<p>“You will stay to tea?”</p>
<p>Iredale pulled himself together.</p>
<p>“No, I think not. The storm has passed, the rain
is ceasing. I had better hurry back home. It will
come back on us––the storm, I mean.”</p>
<p>The girl looked out of the window.</p>
<p>“Yes, I think it will. Oh, I forgot to tell you.
Hervey went over to see you this afternoon.”</p>
<p>Iredale’s eyes turned sharply upon the girl.</p>
<p>“Ah, yes, I will go at once. I will call to-morrow
and see Mrs. Malling. Good-bye.”</p>
<p>He turned away and abruptly left the room.
Prudence looked after him. She saw him pass out;
she saw him go out by the front door and hurry
down the little path which bisected the front garden.
She saw him go round to the stables, and he seemed
not to heed the rain which was still falling lightly.
But it was not until she saw him riding away down
the trail that she realized the suddenness of his departure
and the fact that he hadn’t even attempted to
kiss her.</p>
<p>Iredale’s horse received little consideration at its
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_225' name='page_225'></SPAN>225</span>
master’s hands on that homeward journey. The
animal was ridden almost at racing pace over the
long ten miles of country. And all the way home
the words the girl had spoken were running in his
ears with maddening insistence––</p>
<p>“And when we find the author of those words we
find his murderer.”</p>
<p>She had virtually accused him of murder. For he
alone was the author of those words in the paper.
Truly his sins were finding him out.</p>
<hr class='toprule' />
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_226' name='page_226'></SPAN>226</span>
<SPAN name='CHAPTER_XIII_BLACKMAIL' id='CHAPTER_XIII_BLACKMAIL'></SPAN>
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