Winston nodded, and his face which had grown almost wistful hardened.  “Those who strive in the pit are apt to grow blind to the best—­the sweetness and order, and all the little graces that mean so much.  Even if their eyes are opened, it is usually too late.  You see, they lose touch with all that lies beyond the struggle, and without some one to lead them they cannot get back to it.  Still, if I talk in this fashion you will laugh at me, but every one has his weakness now and then—­and no doubt I shall make up for it at Winnipeg to-morrow.  One can not afford to be fanciful when wheat is two cents down.”

Maud Barrington was not astonished.  Tireless in his activities and, more curious still, almost ascetic in his mode of life, the man had already given her glimpses of his inner self and the vague longings that came upon him.  He never asked her pity, but she found something pathetic in his attitude, for it seemed he knew that the stress and the turmoil alone could be his.  Why this was so she did not know, but it was with a confidence that could not be shaken now she felt it was through no fault of his.  His last words, however, showed her that the mask was on again.

“I scarcely fancy you are well enough, but if you must go, I wonder whether you would do a good turn to Alfreton?” she said.  “The lad has been speculating—­and he seems anxious lately.”

“It is natural that they should all bring their troubles to you.”

Maud Barrington laughed.  “I, however, generally pass them on to you.”

A trace of color crept into the man’s face, and his voice was a trifle hoarse as he said, “Do you know that I would ask nothing better than to take every care you had, and bear it for you?”

“Still,” said the girl, with a little smile, “that is very evidently out of the question.”

Winston rose, and she saw that one hand was closed as he looked down upon her.  Then he turned and stared out at the prairie, but there was something very significant in the rigidity of his attitude, and his face seemed to have grown suddenly careworn when he glanced back at her.

“Of course,” he said quietly.  “You see, I have been ill, and a little off my balance lately.  That accounts for erratic speeches, though I meant it all.  Colonel Barrington is still in Winnipeg?”

“Yes,” said the girl, who was not convinced by the explanation, very quietly.  “I am a little anxious about him, too.  He sold wheat forward, and I gather from his last letter has not bought it yet.  Now, as Alfreton is driving in to-morrow, he could take you.”

Winston was grateful to her, and still more to Miss Barrington, who came in just then, while he did not see the girl again before he departed with Alfreton on the morrow.  When they had left Silverdale a league behind, the trail dipped steeply amid straggling birches to a bridge which spanned the creek in a hollow, and Winston glanced up at the winding ascent thoughtfully.