It had slipped out before he quite realised what he was saying, and he saw the girl's look of astonishment and concern. She now realised what Sproatly had meant.

"You are in debt, Gregory? I thought you had, at least, kept clear of that," she said.

"So I did--for a while. In any case, if Wyllard stays away, and I can run this place on the right lines, I shall, no doubt, get out of it again."

She was vexed that he had said this, for it was clear to her that if Wyllard did not return until another crop was gathered in it would be because he was held fast among the Northern ice in peril of his life.

Then another thought struck her. She had never quite understood why Gregory had been willing to undertake the management of the Range, in view of the probability of Wyllard having plainly told him what he had said to her, but he had made that point clear by admitting that he had been burdened with a load of debt, which suggested the question why he had incurred the latter. The answer appeared in another moment or two, as she remembered having heard Mrs. Hastings or somebody else say that he had spent a good many dollars upon his house and furnishings for it.

It brought her a sudden sense of confusion, for as one result of that expenditure he had been forced into doing what she fancied must have been a very repugnant thing, and she had never even crossed his threshold.

"When did you borrow that money?" she asked sharply.

There was no doubt that the man was embarra.s.sed, and her heart softened towards him for his hesitation. It was to further her comfort he had laid that load upon himself, and he was clearly unwilling that she should recognise it. That counted for a good deal in his favour.

"Was it just before I came out?" she asked again.

Hawtrey made a little sign of expostulation. "You really mustn't worry me about these matters, Aggy. A good many of us are in the storekeepers' or mortgage-jobbers' hands, and there's no doubt that if I have another good year at the Range I shall clear off the debt."

Agatha turned her face away from him for a moment or two. The thing the man had done laid a heavy obligation on her, and she remembered that she had only found fault with him. Even then, however, stirred as she was, she was conscious that all the tenderness she had once felt for him had gone. The duty, however, remained, and with a little effort she turned to him again.

"Oh!" she said, "I'm so sorry."

Hawtrey smiled. "I really don't think I deserve a very great deal of pity. As I have said, I'll probably come out all right next year if I can only keep expenses down."

Then Agatha remembered the task she had in hand. It was a very inauspicious moment to set about it, but that could not be helped, and even for the man's own sake she felt that she must win him over.

"There is one way, Gregory, in which I don't think it ought to be done," she said. "Yon took over Wyllard's obligations when you took the farm, and I think you should keep the two Morans on."

Hawtrey started. "Ah!" he said, "Mrs. Hastings has been setting you on; I partly expected it."

"She told me," Agatha admitted. "Unless you will look at the thing as I do, I could almost wish she hadn't. The thought of that woman shut up in the woods all winter only to find that what she must have to bear has all been thrown away troubles me. Wyllard promised to keep those men on, didn't he?"

"There was no regular engagement so far as I can make out."

"Still, Moran seems to have understood that he was to be kept on."

"Yes," admitted Hawtrey, "he evidently does. If the market had gone with us I'd have fallen in with his views. As it hasn't, every man's wages count."

Agatha was conscious of a little thrill of repugnance. Of late Gregory's ideas had rather frequently jarred on hers.

"Does that release you?"

Hawtrey did not answer this.

"I'll keep those men on if you want me to," he said.

Agatha winced at this. She had discovered that she must not look for too much from Gregory, but to realise that he had practically no sense of moral obligation, and could only be influenced to do justice by the expectation of obtaining her favour positively hurt her.

"I want them kept on, but I don't want you to do it for that reason,"

she said. "Can't you grasp the distinction, Gregory?"

A trace of darker colour crept into Hawtrey's face, but while she was a little astonished at this he looked at her steadily. He had not thought much about her during the last month, but now the faint scorn in her voice had stirred him.

"Now," he said, "there are just three reasons, Aggy, why you should have troubled yourself about this thing. You are, perhaps, a little sorry for Moran's wife, but as you haven't even seen her that can hardly count for much. The next is, that you don't care to see me doing what you regard as a shabby thing; perhaps it is a shabby thing in some respects, but I feel it's justifiable. Of course, if that's your reason there's a sense in which, while not exactly complimentary--it's consoling."

He broke off, and looked at her with a question in his eyes, and it cost Agatha an effort to meet them. She was not prudish or over conscious of her own righteousness, but once or twice after the shock of her disillusionment in regard to him had lessened she had dreamed of the possibility of enduing him little by little with some of the qualities she had once fancied he possessed, and, as she vaguely thought of it, rehabilitating him. Now, however, the thing seemed impossible, and, what was more, the desire to bring it about had gone.

Hateful as the situation was becoming, she was honest, and she could not let him credit her with a motive that had not influenced her.

In the meanwhile, her very coldness and aloofness stirred desire in the man, and she shrank as she saw a spark of pa.s.sion kindling in his eyes.

It was merely pa.s.sion, she felt, for she recognised that there was a strain of grossness in him.

"No," she said, "that reason was not one which had any weight with me."

Hawtrey's face hardened. "Then," he said grimly, "we'll get on to the third. Wyllard's credit is a precious thing to you; sooner than anything should cast a stain on it you would beg a favour from--me.

You have set him up on a pedestal, and it would hurt you if he came down. Considering everything, it's a remarkably curious situation."

Agatha grew a trifle pale. Gregory was horribly right, for she had no doubt now that he had merely thrust upon her a somewhat distressing truth. It was to save Wyllard's credit, and for that alone she had undertaken this most unpalatable task. She did not answer, and Hawtrey stood up.

"Wyllard has his faults, but there's this in his favour--he keeps a promise," he said. "One has a certain respect for a person who never goes back upon his word. Well, because I really think he would like it, I'll keep those men."

He paused for a moment, as if to let her grasp the drift of this, and then turned to her with something that startled her in his voice and manner. "The question is--are you willing to emulate his example?"

Agatha shrank from the glow in his eyes. "Oh!" she broke out, "you cannot urge me now--after what you said."

Hawtrey laughed harshly. "Well," he said, "I'll come for my answer very shortly. It seems that you and Wyllard attach a good deal of importance to a moral obligation--and I must remind you that the time agreed upon is almost up."

Agatha sat very still for perhaps half a minute, while a sense of dismay crept over her. There was no doubt that Gregory's retort was fully warranted. She had, as she admitted, insisted upon him carrying out an obligation which would cost him something, not because she took pleasure in seeing him do what was honourable, but to preserve the credit of another man, and now it was with intense repugnance she recognised that there was apparently no escaping from the one she had incurred. The man's att.i.tude was perfectly natural and logical. She had promised to marry him, and he had saddled himself with a load of debt on her account, but the slight pity and tenderness she had felt for him a few minutes earlier had utterly gone. Indeed, she felt she almost hated him. His face had grown hard and almost brutal, and there was a look she shrank from in his eyes.

Then she rose.

"Do you wish to speak to Mrs. Hastings?" she asked.

Hawtrey smiled rather grimly. "No," he said, "if she'll excuse me, I don't think I do. If you tell her you have been successful, she'll probably be quite content."

Agatha went out without another word, and Hawtrey lighted his pipe and stretched himself out in his chair, when he heard the waggon drive away a few minutes later. He did not like Mrs. Hastings, and had a suspicion that she had no great regard for him, but he was conscious of a somewhat grim satisfaction. There was, though it seldom came to the surface, a taint of crude brutality in his nature, and it was active now. When Agatha had first come out the change in her had been a shock to him, and it would not have cost him very much to let her go. Since then, however, her coldness and half-perceived disdain had angered him, and the interview which was just over had left him in an unpleasant mood. Though this was, perhaps, the last thing he would have expected, it had stirred him to desire. It was consoling to feel that he could exact the fulfilment of her promise from the girl. His face grew coa.r.s.er as he a.s.sured himself of it, but he had, as it happened, never realised the shiftiness and instability of his own character. It was his misfortune that the impulses which swayed him one day had generally changed the next.

This became apparent when, having occasion to drive in to the elevators on the railroad a week later, he called at a store to make one or two purchases. The man who kept it laid a package on the counter.

"I wonder if you'd take this along to Miss Creighton as a favour," he said. "She wrote for the things, and Elliot was to take them out, but I guess he forgot; anyway, he didn't call."

Hawtrey told the clerk to put the package in his waggon. He had scarcely seen Sally since his recovery, and he suddenly remembered that, after all, he owed her a good deal, and that she was very pretty.

Besides, one could talk to Sally without feeling the restraint that Agatha's manner usually laid on him. Then the storekeeper laid an open box upon the counter.

"I guess you're going to be married by and bye," he said.

Hawtrey was thinking of Sally then, and the question irritated him.

"I don't know that it concerns you, but in a general way it's probable," he said.

"Well," said the storekeeper good-humouredly, "a pair of these mittens would make quite a nice present for a lady. Smartest thing of the kind I've ever seen here; choicest Alaska fur."