“I have no doubt they will,” replied Iredale, with an inscrutable smile. “Good-bye.”
Hervey rode away. The man he had left remained standing at his front door. The horseman half turned in his saddle as the bush closed about him.
“Curse the man for his d–––d superiority,” he muttered. “I suppose he thinks I am blind. Well, Mr. Iredale, we’ve made a pleasant start from my point of view. If you intend to marry Prudence you’ll have to pay the piper. Guess I’m that piper. It’s money I want, and it’s money you’ll have to pay.”
The mysterious owner of Lonely Ranch was thinking deeply as he watched his guest depart.
“I believe he’s the greatest scoundrel I have ever come across,” he said to himself. “Money? Why, he’d sell his soul for it, or I’m no judge of men of 156 his kidney, and, worse luck, I know his sort well enough. I wonder what made me do it? Not friendship. Prudence? No, not exactly. And yet––I don’t know. I think I’d sooner have him on my side than against me.” Then he turned his eyes towards the corrals and outbuildings which were dotted about amongst the trees, and finally they settled upon a little clearing on the side of Front Hill. It was a graveyard of the early settlers. “Yes, I must break away from it all––and as soon as possible. I have said so for many a year, but the fascination of it has held me. If I hope to ever marry Prudence I must give it up. I must not––dare not let her discover the truth. The child’s goodness drives me to desperation. Yes––it shall all go.”
His gaze wandered in the direction Hervey had taken, and a troubled look came into his calm eyes. A moment later he turned suddenly with a shiver and passed into the house. Somehow his thoughts were very gloomy.