"I woke him in the stable, and told him what had happened. Bit by bit I got out of him what he'd done. And then I said to him, 'Now choose!--either you go, or we. After the funeral, the boys and I have done with you. You can't force us to go on living with you. We will kill ourselves first. Either you stay here, and we go into Winnipeg; or you can sell the stock, take the money, and go. We'll work the farm.' He swore at me, but I told him he'd find we'd made up our minds. And a week later, he disappeared. He had sold the stock, and left us the burnt walls and the land."
"And you've never seen him since?"
"Never."
"You believe him dead?"
"I know that he died--in the first Yukon rush of ten years ago. I tracked him there, shortly afterwards. He was probably killed in a scuffle with some miners as drunken as himself."
There was a silence, which he broke very humbly.
"Do you forgive me? I know I am not sane on this point. I believe I have spoilt your day."
She looked up, her eyes swimming in tears, and held out her hand.
"It's nothing, you know," she said, trying to smile--"in our case. Philip is such a baby."
"I know; but look after him!" he said earnestly, as he grasped it.