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Updated: June 22, 2025
She had been a little startled, and was not quite sure yet as to how she should receive him; but in the meanwhile Hawtrey drew her in. "The old folks are out," she said. "They've gone over to Elliot's for supper. He's bringing us a package." Hawtrey, who explained that he had got it, let her hands go, and sat down somewhat limply.
Though it is not always set down to their credit, the brown-faced, hard-handed men as a rule live very abstemiously in that country, and, as it happened, Hawtrey, who, however, certainly showed no sign of it, had already consumed rather more cider than anybody else. He made a little sign of submission, and Sally resumed their conversation where it had broken off.
She broke off that train of thought abruptly, and once more endeavored to find the explanation in herself. Weariness had produced this captious, hypercritical fit, and by and by she would become used to him, she said. Hawtrey was, at least, not effusive, for which she was thankful. When they reached a smoother stretch of road he began to talk of England.
"Isn't it worth while, though there are things you would have to give up?" she said. "You couldn't go away and waste your dollars in Winnipeg every now and then." Hawtrey laughed. "No," he admitted; "I suppose if I meant to make anything of the place that couldn't be done. Still, you see, it's horribly lonely sitting by oneself beside the stove in the long winter nights.
The farm, which was a big one, had evidently been ably managed until a recent date, and he felt the strongest desire to get his hands on it. This, as he knew, would have been out of the question had Wyllard been at home, but with Hawtrey, upon whom he had a certain hold, in charge, the thing appeared by no means impossible. "Oh, yes," he replied.
Sally drove right through the settlement and back outside it before she could check the horses, and she had just pulled them up in front of the wooden hotel when Hawtrey reached it. He stood beside the wagon holding up his hand to her, and Sally, who laughed, dropped bodily into his arms, which was, as he realized, a thing that Agatha certainly would not have done.
"No," said Hawtrey, with a significant glance at her, "there certainly isn't, Sally. As a matter of fact, I often wish there was." He saw her sudden uncertainty, which was, however, not tinged with embarrassment, and feeling that he had gone far enough in the meanwhile he went out to put up his team. When he came back there was a cloth on the table, and Sally was busy about the stove.
Their troubles were over, and, what was more, Wyllard, who pledged the rest to secrecy, fancied that what had become of the schooner would remain a mystery. Harvest had commenced at the Range, and the clashing binders were moving through the grain when Hawtrey sat one afternoon in Wyllard's room at the Range.
Hastings got down and walked back with Hawtrey to the stalled wagon. It was a minute or two before they reappeared again, and Mrs. Hastings, who had alighted, drew Hawtrey aside. "I almost think it would be better if you didn't come any further to-night," she said. "Why?" Gregory asked sharply. "I can't help thinking that Agatha would prefer it. For one thing, she's rather jaded, and wants quiet."
Hawtrey met her gaze for a moment, and then made a sign of acquiescence as he turned his eyes away. He recognized that this was a new Agatha, one whose will was stronger than his. Yet he was astonished that he had yielded so readily. "Well," he agreed, "if it must be, I can only give way to you, but I must be free to come over here whenever I wish." Suddenly a thought struck him.
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