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Updated: June 6, 2025
To begin with, the memory of Muriel Hurst had haunted him since she left; he recalled her with a regretful longing that seemed to grow steadily stronger instead of diminishing. He thought she had left an indelible mark on his life. Then there was his impersonation of Jernyngham, which he had rashly agreed to, but did not now regret.
As this was not a novelty to his companion, Prescott made no comment, and by and by two tumblers containing iced liquid were brought in. Jernyngham drained his thirstily and looked up with a grin. "It isn't exhilarating, but it's cool," he said. "Now, however, you're curious about my honorable scars I got them from a bottle.
Try to imagine with what ideas I have been brought up. But the feeling left me when I saw how merciless Jernyngham was; his hard words turned it into sympathy." "That is something to be thankful for, though it doesn't content me. I think you would be sorry for any one, even an enemy, who was in trouble and getting hurt." She grasped his meaning and looked at him steadily with an air of pride.
Then he drove these thoughts away; to indulge in them would only make the self-denial he must practise the harder. He next tried to occupy his mind with Gertrude Jernyngham, for he was still without a clue to her disconcerting change of mood. She had no great attraction for him, but he had pitied her and found a certain pleasure in her society.
"Still, one has to make allowances; this hot weather's trying, and Ellice got a letter that disturbed her by the last mail. I didn't hear what was in it, but I suspect it was a bill." Prescott nodded, because he did not know what to say. Mrs. Jernyngham had, he gathered, been unusually fractious for the last week or two, and Cyril was invariably forbearing.
"Of course, such a frame of mind is beyond your imagining." "I must confess that it is," Jernyngham replied dryly. Gertrude cast a half-applauding glance at her brother. With all his failings, which she recognized and deplored, Cyril was to her something of a romantic hero.
Colston and his party were leaving the hotel, with Jernyngham and Gertrude a few paces in front of them. A big lamp hung beneath the veranda, and the light from the windows streamed out on the snow. While Colston held the door open for his wife and Muriel to pass through a man came hurriedly along the sidewalk and Colston started. "Be quick!" he cried to Muriel. "It's Prescott!"
You couldn't do anything until Monday, and I thought it better to let you spend to-day in peace." "In peace!" Jernyngham laughed in a jarring manner. "Tormented as I am by suspense that grows beyond endurance!" His eyes glittered and the lines on his face deepened. "And I'm to be kept in ignorance while the villain who robbed and killed my son goes about his work undisturbed!"
Anyhow, I've had about enough of Jernyngham; talked to me like a sergeant instructor last time I met him, and you'd have felt proud if you'd seen the way he smiled when I told him he had better go to you." "We'll leave it at that," said Curtis. "The man's making me tired, and he's worse than he was a month ago. Where's that Brandon paper?"
They set off, Prescott seated on the front of his jolting wagon, Jernyngham riding as near it as the roughness of the trail permitted, with a blanket and a package of provisions strapped to his saddle.
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