the sun had just dipped, leaving a rim of flaring color on the edge of the vast plain, when prescott sat smoking on the stoop of the leslie homestead a week after his evening walk with gertrude. leslie and his wife were simple people from ontario, who had prospered in the last few years. their crops had escaped rust and hail and autumn frost, and as a result of this, the rancher had replaced his rude frame dwelling with a commodious house, built, with lower walls of brick and wood above, in a somewhat ornate style copied from the small villas which are springing up on the outskirts of the western towns.

leslie, an elderly, brown-faced man, sat near prescott; the jernynghams, who had driven over to welcome his friends, were inside, talking to mrs. leslie.

“guess you don’t know much about the english people we’re expecting?” leslie asked.

“no,” said prescott; “only that they’re friends of the jernynghams. i don’t think i’ve even heard their names yet.”

“mrs. leslie knows,” rejoined the farmer; “i forget it. i feel kind of sorry now that she agreed to take them in, but you made a point of it, and if the man’s not so blamed stand-offish, i’ll have somebody to talk to.”

“i wouldn’t talk too much about cyril jernyngham.”

leslie looked hard at him. 114

“there’s one point, jack, where i can’t agree with you—you’re the only man in this district who doesn’t believe jernyngham’s dead. it strikes me that you know more about the thing than you have told anybody yet.”

“let it go at that,” said prescott awkwardly, “all i could say would only bring more trouble on his people, and they’ve had quite enough.”

“sure,” agreed leslie, raising his hand in warning. “sh-h! they’re coming out.”

the next moment gertrude and her father joined the men, and after a few words with them stood still, listening. a long bluff, through which the trail from the settlement led, ran close up to the homestead, cutting against the pale green glow of the sky. for a few minutes there was a deep silence, intensified by the musical clash of cowbells in the distance, and then a measured, drumming sound rose softly from behind the trees.

“guess that’s your friends,” leslie said to jernyngham. “jim’s made pretty good time.”

the beat of hoofs grew nearer until the listeners could hear the rattle of wheels. then a light, four-wheeled vehicle came lurching out of the bluff and jernyngham hurried down the steps. prescott had entered the house to tell mrs. leslie, and he came out as the driver pulled up his team. the occupants of the wagon, which had run a little past the door, had their backs to him, but seeing a girl about to alight he sprang forward. her head was turned away from him at first, but she glanced round when he offered to assist her; and he forgot what the consequences of the meeting must be as he looked into the eyes of muriel hurst. he was conscious of an overwhelming delight, which showed itself in his shining 115 eyes and the warm color that suddenly flushed his face; gertrude jernyngham, standing beside him, read what was in his heart.

the effect on muriel was as marked. he had seized her hand and as she was standing precariously poised, ready to descend, he swung her down. then she recoiled from him, startled, but with strong relief in her expression.

“cyril!” she cried in a strained voice. “why didn’t you write and tell us that it was all a mistake? we heard that you were dead!”

then prescott remembered and his heart sank, but he strove to gather his courage, for there was a crisis to be faced. he stood silent, with one hand clenched tight, while gertrude watched him with hard, unwavering eyes. jernyngham, however, had heard muriel’s startled exclamation and hurried toward her.

“what’s this?” he asked harshly. “you called my son’s name!”

the girl looked at prescott; troubled and surprised by the confused emotions his face betrayed. there was obviously something wrong, but she could not imagine what it was.

“yes,” she said, “i called him cyril. why shouldn’t i?”

colston and his wife joined the group, while the driver looked on from the wagon and the leslies from the stoop. prescott and the girl stood a little distance apart and muriel was sensible of a nervous shiver. when prescott had first held up his hand to her, she had seen his keen pleasure and her heart had responded to it; now, however, she was filled with dismay.

jernyngham answered her in curt, stern tones: 116

“there’s one very good reason—this is not my son!”

“not cyril!” colston broke in. “but he made us believe he was; he’s the man we stayed with!” he made a puzzled gesture. “i can’t understand the thing.”

“nor i,” replied jernyngham. “is this the man you wrote to us about?”

“of course!” said colston stupidly. “i thought he was cyril; so did we all. we had no cause to doubt it.”

jernyngham turned in fury to the leslies.

“who is the fellow?” he demanded.

prescott braced himself.

“i’ll answer that—jack prescott. mr. colston stayed at my homestead.”

“and you personated my son? i suppose you had some motive for doing so and must see that we are entitled to an explanation?”

“yes,” prescott returned quietly. “this isn’t the place to make it. hadn’t you better take your friends in?”

they entered the house, which was getting dark, and while the hired man carried in the baggage leslie lighted a lamp in his sitting-room. it was spacious, roughly paneled in cedar, with an uncovered floor. there were a few chairs scattered about and a plain pine table. jernyngham sat by the table and the others found seats here and there, except prescott, who stood quietly opposite the old man. at a curt sign from jernyngham, leslie and his wife left the room.

“mr. prescott,” jernyngham began, “you have deceived my friends here and i think they should remain to hear what you have to say, but i will dismiss them if you prefer it. you are responsible to me and i must ask for a full account of your conduct.” 117

prescott glanced round the room, which reminded him of a court. gertrude jernyngham’s eyes were fixed on him, and there was a hardness that hinted at cruelty in them; she looked very dignified and cold. mrs. colston he could not see, but her husband seemed disturbed and uneasy. muriel leaned forward in her chair, with wonder, apprehension, and pity curiously mingled in her expression. all of them were very still, the silence was disconcerting, but prescott roused himself to make what defense he could.

“i passed for cyril jernyngham at his request,” he said.

“an extraordinary statement!” jernyngham remarked with ironical incredulity. “may one ask if he gave any reasons for wishing you to do so?”

prescott hesitated, which counted against him.

“well,” he said, “cyril had got hurt in a row at the settlement a few hours before mr. colston’s arrival. his head was badly cut; he thought it might make a bad impression.”

“that doesn’t sound very convincing. had he no better reason?”

the rancher paused to think. he would not explain that his friend’s mode of life would not have borne a critical examination, but he had a duty to himself and something must be urged.

“i think he meant to hide the fact that he was married. he did not wish your friends to meet his wife.”

colston started and it was obvious that the others were keenly interested, but jernyngham’s face grew darker and marked by signs of pain, for he had learned a little about ellice. he was struggling with an overwhelming humiliation. 118

“we’ll let that pass,” he said. “it’s a matter that cannot be discussed. was mr. colston’s visit the only time you personated my son?”

“certainly! nothing would induce me to play the part again.”

“then you will be surprised to hear that shortly after cyril’s disappearance a man sold some land of his at a town farther along the line?”

“i am surprised, but i believe it must have been cyril.”

“then his handwriting must have totally changed, which i believe is a very unusual thing,” jernyngham rejoined sarcastically. “i have been shown some documents which he is supposed to have filled in.”

prescott began to realize that appearances were very strongly against him. he had admitted having once impersonated his friend and it would be difficult to convince those who had heard his confession that he had not done so again, when there was a strong motive for it in the price of the land.

“well,” he said firmly; “if the handwriting wasn’t cyril’s, i can’t tell whose it was; it certainly wasn’t mine. there’s one thing i’m convinced of—your son is not dead.”

jernyngham looked at him; with the veins on his forehead swollen and his face tense with anger, but he held himself in hand.

“you have said so often. i did not believe you; i do not believe you now; but your object in making the statement is easy to understand. i’ve no doubt you realize that you lie open to a very ugly suspicion.”

“no!” a strained voice broke in. “that is not just!”

looking up, prescott saw that it was muriel who had 119 spoken. her eyes were bright with indignation and her face was hot, but none of the others showed him any sympathy. colston’s face was grave and troubled, his wife’s expressionless; gertrude jernyngham looked more determined and more merciless than her father. she sat very still, coldly watching him.

“thank you,” he said to muriel. “it’s comforting to find one person who does not think the worst of me.”

“silence, sir!” jernyngham exclaimed with the air of a judge rebuking a prisoner of whose guilt he is convinced. “you cannot be permitted to speak to this lady.”

“i think that is a point for mrs. colston to decide, but we’ll let it drop. out of consideration for you, i’ve answered your questions; but you have gone too far, and this must end.” prescott’s expression grew as stern as the old man’s and he looked about with pride. “i tell you it must stop! what right have you to fling these infamous hints at me?”

jernyngham broke into a harsh laugh.

“the part of an innocent man is too much for you to play; we won’t force you into it. it will be a favor if you will have our baggage sent across here; needless to say, neither my daughter nor i can re-enter your house.” then his self-control deserted him and he broke out in hot fury: “i firmly believe you are the man who killed my son, and you shall not escape!”

“i think,” said colston quietly, “that is going too far.”

making no answer, prescott left them; and he was harnessing his horse outside when, somewhat to his astonishment, muriel came toward him. a half-moon hung low above the bluff and the silvery light shone into her face, showing her warmth of color and the sparkle in her eyes. he thought she looked wonderfully attractive 120 and his heart throbbed faster, but he knew he must hold himself in hand.

“hadn’t you better go back?” he asked. “you have heard what your friends think of me.”

“what does that matter?” she exclaimed with feeling. “i’m very angry with them. i can’t let you go without saying that i know you could not have done what you have been wickedly accused of.”

“i’m glad. thank you. it’s a big relief to feel that you believe in me. so long as i have that assurance nothing else counts.”

“harry colston’s not convinced; i believe he’s trying to keep an open mind.”

“is that so?” said prescott. “i don’t expect much from him. he’s the kind of man who’s guided by appearances and seldom does anything out of the common.”

muriel disregarded this.

“but you were very foolish in deceiving us. i can’t understand yet why you did so.”

“i can only tell you that it was for cyril’s sake.”

“oh,” she cried, “it could not have been because of any benefit that you would get! that would never have tempted you.”

he read unshaken confidence in her eyes and it cost him a stern effort to refrain from reckless speech. muriel was beautiful, but that was not all: she was generous and fearless, a loyal friend and a staunch partizan.

“well,” prescott confessed, “when i explained, i was more afraid of you than of jernyngham. i wanted to keep your good opinion, and i wondered whether you had only given it to me because you thought i was cyril jernyngham. from your friends’ point of view jack prescott is a very different kind of person.” 121

muriel blushed.

“is it unpardonable that i was angry when i first found out the mistake? try to imagine with what ideas i have been brought up. but the feeling left me when i saw how merciless jernyngham was; his hard words turned it into sympathy.”

“that is something to be thankful for, though it doesn’t content me. i think you would be sorry for any one, even an enemy, who was in trouble and getting hurt.”

she grasped his meaning and looked at him steadily with an air of pride.

“then must i tell you that i have as much faith in jack prescott as i had in the man whom i supposed to be cyril jernyngham? but you must justify my confidence. you have been wrongly and cruelly accused; don’t you see the duty that lies on you?”

“yes,” prescott answered gravely; “i have to clear myself. if there were no other reason than the one you have given, it would have to be done. it’s going to be a tough proposition, but i’ll get about it very soon.”

“you know that i wish you all success,” she told him softly.

then she held out her hand and turned away. when she had gone prescott went on with his work and after buckling the last strap he found that he had forgotten a parcel mrs. leslie had asked him to deliver. hurrying back to the house for it, he met gertrude jernyngham in the hall and she stopped where the light fell on her, instead of avoiding him as he had expected. there was suspicion in her eyes.

“i see you agree with your father,” he said boldly.

“yes,” she replied in a scornful tone. “you can pose rather cleverly—you tricked me into trusting you, but 122 your ability is limited, after all. when the strain comes, you break down. could anything have been feebler than the defense you made?”

“it was pretty lame, but every word was true.”

“oh,” she cried with disgust and impatience, “one wouldn’t expect you to say it was false! you don’t seem to have anything more convincing to add.”

“i’m going to add nothing. it isn’t very long since you were willing to take my word.”

“i’m afraid i was easily deceived,” gertrude said bitterly. “i didn’t know you had twice passed yourself off as my brother, and you can’t complain if we see an obvious motive for your doing so the second time.”

“you mean that i stole the price of cyril’s land?” prescott asked sternly.

“yes,” she said, watching him with cruel eyes. “that, however, is not the worst.” she struggled with rising passion before she resumed: “i believe——”

prescott raised his hand commandingly.

“stop! i’m going away to find your brother.”

“one can understand your going away!” she flung back at him as she passed on down the hall.

prescott drove home at a reckless pace. facing the situation boldly, he recognized that the outlook was very dark.