The round, rosy face of the farm-wife assumed a deeper hue, and her still comely lips were pursed into an indignant moue. Her smooth grey head, adorned by a black lace cap trimmed with pearl beads, was turned in the direction of the two other occupants of 53 the room, who were more or less buried in the obscurity of a distant corner.
For a moment she gazed at the dimly-outlined figure of a man who was seated on one of the horse-hair chairs, leaning towards the sofa on which reclined the form of her daughter, Prudence. His elbows were resting on his knees and his chin was supported upon his two clenched fists. He was talking earnestly. Mrs. Malling watched him for some moments, then her eyes drifted to the girl, the object of her solicitude.
Although the latter was in the shadow her features were, even at this distance, plainly discernible. There was a strong resemblance between mother and daughter. They were both of medium dark complexion, with strong colouring. Both were possessed of delightfully sweet brown eyes, and mouths and chins firm but shapely. The one remarkable difference between them was in the nasal organ. While the mother’s was short, well-rounded, and what one would call pretty though ordinary, the girl’s was prominent and aquiline with a decided bridge. This feature gave the younger woman a remarkable amount of character to her face. Altogether hers was a face which, wherever she went, would inevitably attract admiring attention. Just now she was evidently teasing the man before her, and the mother turned back to the stove with a merry twinkle in her eyes.
“I think Prudence will teach him a few lessons,” she murmured to her friend.
“What––about the farm?”
“Well, I wasn’t just thinking of the farm.”
54
The two ladies smiled into each other’s faces.
“She is a good child,” observed Mrs. Gurridge affectionately, after awhile.
“Or she wouldn’t be her father’s child.”
“Or your daughter, Hephzibah,” said Sarah Gurridge sincerely.
The two relapsed into silence. The glowing coals in the stove shook lower and received augmentation from the supply above. Darkness was drawing on.
Prudence was holding the Free Press out towards the dying light and the man was protesting. The latter is already known to us. His name was Leslie Grey, now an under-official of the Customs department at the border village of Ainsley.
“Don’t strain your eyes in this light, dear,” he was saying. “Besides, I want to talk to you.” He laid his hand upon the paper to take it from her. But the girl quickly withdrew it out of his reach.
“You must let me look at the personal column, Leslie,” she said teasingly, “I just love it. What do you call it? The ‘Agony’ column, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” the man answered, with some show of irritation. “But I want–––”
“Of course you do,” the girl interrupted. “You want to talk to me––very right and proper. But listen to this.”
Grey bit his lip. Prudence bent her face close to the paper and read in a solemn whisper––
“ ‘Yellow booming––slump in Grey’! Now I wonder what that means? Do you think it’s a disguised love message to some forlorn damsel in the east, or does it conceal the heartrending cry of a lost soul to some fond but angry parent?” Then, as the man 55 did not immediately answer, she went on with a pucker of thought upon her brow. “ ‘Yellow’––that might mean gold. ‘Booming’––ah, yes, the Kootenai mines, or the Yukon. There is going to be a rush there this year, isn’t there? Oh, I forgot,” with real contrition, “I mustn’t mention the Yukon, must I? That is where your disaster occurred that caused you to be banished to the one-horsed station of Ainsley.”
“Not forgetting the reduction of my salary to the princely sum of two thousand dollars per annum,” Grey added bitterly.
“Never mind, old boy, it brought us together, and dollars aren’t likely to trouble us any. But let me get on with my puzzle. ‘Slump in Grey.’ That’s funny, isn’t it? ‘Slump’ certainly has to do with business. I’ve seen ‘Slump’ in the finance columns of the Toronto Globe. And then ‘Grey.’ That’s your name.”
“I believe so.”
“Um. Guess I can’t make much of it. Seems to me it must be some business message. I call it real disappointing.”
“Perhaps not so disappointing as you think, sweetheart,” Grey said thoughtfully.
“What, do you understand it?” The girl at once became all interest.
“Yes,” slowly, “I understand it, but I don’t know that I ought to tell you.”
“Of course you must. I’m just dying of curiosity. Besides,” she went on coaxingly, “we are going to be married, and it wouldn’t be right to have any secrets from me. Dear old Gurridge never lost an opportunity 56 of firing sage maxims at us when I used to go to her school. I think the one to suit this occasion ran something like this––
| ‘Secrets withheld ’twixt man and wife, Infallibly end in connubial strife.’ |
“She always made her rhymes up as she went along. She’s a sweet old dear, but so funny.”
But Grey was not heeding the girl’s chatter. His face was serious and his obstinate mouth was tight-shut. He was gazing with introspective eyes at the paper which was now lying in the girl’s lap. Suddenly he leaned further forward and spoke almost in a whisper.
“Look here, Prue, I want you to listen seriously to what I have to say. I’m not a man given to undue hopefulness. I generally take my own way in things and see it through, whether that way is right or wrong. So far I’ve had some successes and more failures. If I were given to dreaming or repining I should say Fate was dead against me. That last smasher I came in the mountains, when I lost the Government bullion, nearly settled me altogether, but, in spite of it all, I haven’t given up hope yet, and what is more, I anticipate making a big coup shortly which will reinstate me in favour with the heads of my department. My coup is in connection with the notice you have just read out from the ‘Agony’ column.”
The girl nodded. She was quite serious now. Grey paused, and the ticking of the grandfather’s clock on the other side of the room pounded heavily in the twilight The murmur of the old ladies’ voices 57 occasionally reached the lovers, but it did not interrupt them or divert their attention from their own affairs.
“That notice,” Grey went on, “has appeared at regular intervals in the paper, and is a message to certain agents from a certain man, to say that certain illicit work has been carried out. I have discovered who this man is and the nature of his work. It does not matter who he is or what the work; in fact, it would be dangerous to mention either, even here; the point is that I have discovered the secret, and I, alone, am going to benefit by my discovery. I am not going to let any one share the reward with me. I want to reinstate myself with the authorities, and so regain my lost position, then no one will be able to say things about my marriage with you.”
“No one had better say anything against you in my hearing, anyway, Leslie,” the girl put in quickly. “Because I happen to be rich––or shall be––is nothing to do with any one but myself. As far as I can see it will be a blessing. Go on.”
“No doubt it is as you say, dear,” the man pursued; “but there are plenty of people unkind enough to believe that I am marrying you for your money. However,