“In short,” said Jernyngham, “you have made up your mind not to come home with us.”
“I’m sorry it is so,” Cyril responded gravely. “Try to understand. If I stay here, we will be good friends and you will think well of me. If I go home there will be trouble and regret for you. I want to save you that.”
“Father,” Gertrude broke in softly, “though it’s hard to say, I know that Cyril’s right.”
Jernyngham got up wearily.
“There is nothing more that I can urge. You must do as you think best, my son, but while I shall never quite grasp your point of view, you will always be in our thoughts.”
They were glad to separate, for the interview had been trying to them all.
Some time had passed when Cyril, hearing a beat of hoofs, went out and found Prescott pulling up his team.
“We have been talking over matters while you were out,” he told him. “As I’ve decided to stay here, my people are going home soon—in a week or two, I think; and I expect Colston will leave with them. I thought you might like to know.”
He saw the color creep into Muriel’s face; and when he turned back to the house Prescott lifted the girl down from the sleigh.
“Dear, I can’t let them take you away,” he said.