“Nobody has been here for a while,” she said. “I wonder who it can be?”
Prescott’s team, which had been growing impatient of the cold, began to move, and he was occupied for the next minute in quieting them. Then he looked around, started violently, and stood very still, his eyes fixed on the approaching man.
“Jernyngham, by all that’s wonderful!” he gasped, and sent a shout ringing across the snow: “Cyril!”
The man waved his hand, and Prescott, turning at a sound, saw Muriel lean weakly against the side of the sleigh. The color had faded from her face, but her eyes were shining.
“O Jack!” she said breathlessly. “Now everything will be put straight!”
Prescott realized from the greatness of her relief what she had borne on his account; but there was something that must be done and he ran to the stable, where Leslie was at work.
“Get into my sleigh, and drive to Harper’s as hard as you can!” he said. “Curtis was there when I passed; bring him here at once!”
Leslie came out with him and understood when he saw the newcomer. Jumping into the vehicle, he drove off, while Prescott ran to meet Cyril, who dismounted and heartily shook hands with him.
“It’s good to see you, Jack,” he said, and indicated the galloping team. “The sensation I seem to make shows no signs of lessening.”
“Haven’t you heard!” Prescott exclaimed. “Don’t you understand?”