Agatha sat very still, but it cost her an effort.
"You mean?" she said at length.
"Harry Wyllard."
Agatha made no answer, and Sally changed the subject, "Well," she said, "after all, I want you to be friends with me."
"I think you can count on that," said Agatha with a smile, and in another minute or two she rose to rejoin Mrs. Hastings.
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE LANDING.
The ice among the inlets on the American side of the North Pacific broke up unusually early when spring came round again, and several weeks before Wyllard had expected it the Selache floated clear. Her crew had suffered little during the bitter winter, for Dampier had kept them busy splicing gear and patching sails, and they had fitted her with a new mainmast hewn out of a small cedar. None of them had been trained as carpenters, but men who keep the sea for months in small vessels are necessarily handy at repairs, and they had all used axe and saw to some purpose in their time. In any case, Wyllard was satisfied when they thrashed the Selache out of the inlet under whole mainsail in a fresh breeze, and when evening came he sat smoking near the wheel in a contemplative mood as the climbing forests and snow-clad heights dropped back astern.
He wondered what his friends were doing upon the prairie, and whether Agatha had married Gregory yet. It seemed to him that this was, at least, possible, for she was one to keep a promise, and it was difficult to believe that Gregory would fail to press his claim. His face grew grim as he thought of it, though this was a thing he had done more or less constantly during the winter. He fancied that he might have ousted Gregory if he had remained at the Range, for Agatha had, perhaps unconsciously, shown him that she was, at least, not quite indifferent to him, but that would have been to involve her in a breach of faith which she would probably have always looked back on with regret, and in any case he could not have stayed. He knew he would never forget her, but it was, he admitted, not impossible that she might forget him. He also realised, though this was not by comparison a matter of great consequence, that the Range was scarcely likely to prosper under Gregory's management, but that could not be helped, and after all he owed Gregory something. It never occurred to him that he was doing an extravagant thing in setting out upon the search he had undertaken. He only felt that the obligation was laid upon him, and, being what he was, he could not shrink from it.