| “Bring back my Bonny to me.” |
This in her case was more than anyone could do, and as she stood listening a tear splashed upon her closed hands. The man, by comparison with whom Gregory appeared a mere lay figure, was in all probability lying still far up in the solitudes of the frozen North, with his last grim journey done. This time, however, he had not carried her picture with him. Gregory was to blame for that, and it was the one thing she could not forgive him.
She leaned against the window for another minute, struggling with an almost uncontrollable longing, and looking out upon the sweep of golden wheat and whitened grass with brimming eyes, until there was a rattle of wheels, and she saw Edmonds drive away. She heard voices in the corridor, and it became evident that Hastings was speaking to his wife.
“I’ve got rid of the man, and it’s reasonable to expect that Gregory will keep clear of him after this,” he said.
“Don’t you mean that Agatha did it?”
It was Mrs. Hastings who asked the question, and Agatha became intent as she heard her name. She did not, however, hear the answer, and Mrs. Hastings spoke again.
“Allen,” she said, “you don’t keep a secret badly, though Harry pledged you not to tell. Still, all that caution was a little unnecessary. It was, of course, just the kind of thing he would do.”
“What did he do?” Hastings asked, and Agatha heard Mrs. Hastings’ soft laugh, for they were just outside the door now.
“Left the Range, or most of it, to Agatha in case he didn’t come back again.”
They went on, and Agatha, turning from the window, sat down limply with the blood in her face and her heart beating fast. Wyllard’s last care, it seemed, had been to provide for her, and that fact brought her a curious sense of solace. In an unexplainable fashion it took the bitterest sting out of her grief, though how far he had succeeded in his intentions did not seem to matter in the least.. It was sufficient to know that amid all the haste of his preparation he had not forgotten her.