“I’m afraid not,” said Jernyngham. “It might be urged that Prescott has come back; but I believe that was only to sell his wheat.” He broke into a harsh laugh. “One must admit that the fellow has courage; but he won’t find it easy to escape again. Every move of his will be watched.”
Gertrude sat very still for a few moments, her lips tightly pressed together. Then she made a gesture of weariness.
“Oh,” she said, “it’s all so hard to bear! There’s nothing but doubt and suspense; not a ray of comfort!”
Getting up languidly she went out and left her father lost in thought.
An hour or two afterward, Prescott sat near the stove in his homestead, moodily making entries in an account-book, when he heard voices in the passage and looked up with a start. The next moment the door opened and Muriel Hurst came in. His heart throbbed furiously at the sight of her; she looked excited and eager; her rich furs enhanced her charm. He thought she made a wonderfully attractive picture in the small, simply furnished room, but he laid a strong restraint upon himself as he rose.
“I felt that I had to come; I wanted to show that your friends still trusted you,” she said impulsively.
He made no move to bring her a chair.
“It was a generous thought, but, considering everything, I don’t know that it was wise. Did you tell Colston or your sister that you were coming?”
“No,” she answered with a trace of confusion; “I left rather in a hurry.” Then she broke into a forced laugh. “This isn’t the welcome I expected!”
Prescott’s eyes gleamed.