“But how is it that you alone see this? Isn’t it a trifle egotistical?”
Witham laughed. “Can’t we leave my virtues, or the reverse, out of the question? I feel that I am right, and want you to dissuade your uncle. It would be even better if, when I return to Winnipeg, you would empower me to buy wheat for you.”
Maud Barrington looked at him curiously. “I am a little perplexed as to why you should wish me to.”
“No doubt,” said Witham. “Still, is there any reason why I should be debarred the usual privilege of taking an interest in my neighbour’s affairs?”
“No,” said the girl slowly. “But can you not see that it is out of the question that I should entrust you with this commission?”
Witham’s hands closed on the reins, and his face grew a trifle grim as he said, “From the point of view you evidently take, I presume it is.”
A flush of crimson suffused the girl’s cheeks. “I never meant that, and I can scarcely forgive you for fancying I did. Of course I could trust you with—you have made me use the word—the dollars, but you must realize that I could not do anything in public opposition to my uncle’s opinion.”
Witham was sensible of a great relief, but it did not appear advisable to show it. “There are so many things you apparently find it difficult to forgive me—and we will let this one pass,” he said. “Still, I cannot help thinking that Colonel Barrington will have a good deal to answer for.”
Maud Barrington made no answer, but she was sensible of a respect which appeared quite unwarranted for the dryly-spoken man who, though she guessed her words stung him now and then, bore them without wincing. While she sat silent, shivering under her furs, darkness crept down. The smoky cloud dropped lower, the horizon closed in as the grey obscurity rolled up to meet them across a rapidly-narrowing strip of snow. Then she could scarcely see the horses, and the muffled drumming of their hoofs was lost in a doleful wail of wind. It also seemed to her that the cold, which was already almost insupportable, suddenly increased, as it not infrequently does in that country before the snow. Then a white powder was whirled into her face, filling her eyes and searing the skin, while, when she could see anything again, the horses were plunging at a gallop through a filmy haze, and Witham, whitened all over, leaned forward with lowered head hurling hoarse encouragement at them. His voice reached her fitfully through the roar of wind, until sight and hearing were lost alike as the white haze closed about them, and it was not until the wild gust had passed she heard him again.
He was apparently shouting, “Come nearer.”