Becoming a little calmer, she understood what had been in Hastings’ mind during the interview that had puzzled her, and was glad that she assured him of her willingness to sacrifice anything that might be hers if it was needed to set Gregory free. It was, she felt, what Wyllard would have done with the money. He had said that Gregory was a friend of his, and that, she knew, meant a great deal to him.
She suddenly realized that she must join the others if she did not wish her absence to excite comment. Going out, she came face to face with Sally in the corridor. The girl stopped, and saw the sympathy in her eyes.
“Yes,” she said impulsively, “I’ve saved him. Edmonds has gone. Hastings bought him off, and, though I don’t quite know how, you helped him. He stayed behind to wait for you.”
Agatha smiled. The vibrant relief in her companion’s voice stirred her, and she realized once more that in choosing this half-taught girl Gregory had acted with a wholly unusual wisdom. It was with a sense of half-contemptuous amusement at her own folly that she remembered how she had once fancied that Gregory was marrying beneath him. Sally was far from perfect, but in the essentials the man was not fit to brush her shoes.
“My dear,” responded Agatha, “I really don’t know exactly what I—have—done, but if it amounts to anything it is a pleasure to me.”
They went together into the big general room where Gregory was talking to Winifred somewhat volubly. Agatha, however, judged from his manner that he had, at least, the grace to feel ashamed of himself. Supper, she heard Mrs. Nansen say, would be ready very shortly, and feeling in no mood for general conversation, she sat near a window looking out across the harvest field until she heard a distant shout, and saw a wagon appear on the crest of the hill. To her astonishment, two of the binders stopped, and she saw the men who sprang down from them run to meet the wagon. In another moment or two more of the teams stopped, and a faint clamor of cries went up, while here and there little running figures straggled up the slope. All the occupants of the room clustered about her at the window, and Winifred turned to Hastings.
“What are they shouting for?” she asked. “They are all crowding about the wagon now.”
Agatha felt suddenly dazed and dizzy, for she knew what the answer to that question must be even before Mrs. Hastings spoke.
“It’s Harry coming back!” she gasped.
In another moment they all hastened out of the house, and Agatha found it scarcely possible to follow them, for the sudden revulsion of feeling had almost overpowered her. Still, she reached the door, and saw the wagon drawn up amid a cluster of struggling men. Presently Wyllard, whom they surrounded, broke from them. She stood on the threshold waiting for him, and in the moment of her exultation a pang smote her as she saw how gaunt and worn he was. He came straight toward her, apparently regardless of the others, and, clasping the hands she held out, drew her into the house.