Barrington rose up very stiffly, with a little gray tinge in his face, but words seemed to fail him, and Dane laid his hand on the corporal’s shoulder.

“Then,” he said grimly, “don’t exceed it.  If you believe he’s here, we will give you every opportunity of finding him.”

Payne called to a comrade outside, who was, as it happened, new to the force, and they spent at least ten minutes questioning the servants and going up and down the house.  Then as they glanced into the general room again, the trooper looked deprecatingly at his officer.

“I fancied I heard somebody riding by the bluff just before we reached the house,” he said.

Payne wheeled round with a flash in his eyes.  “Then you have lost us our man.  Out with you, and tell Jackson to try the bluff for a trail.”

They had gone in another moment, and Winston still sat at the foot of the table and Barrington at the head, while the rest of the company were scattered, some wonderingly silent, though others talked in whispers, about the room.  As yet they felt only consternation and astonishment.

CHAPTER XXV

COURTHORNE MAKES REPARATION

The silence in the big room had grown oppressive, when Barrington raised his head and sat stiffly upright.

“What has happened has been a blow to me, and I am afraid I am scarcely equal to entertaining you tonight,” he said.  “I should, however, like Dane and Macdonald, and one or two of the older men to stay a while.  There is still, I fancy, a good deal for us to do.”

The others turned towards the door, but as they passed Winston, Miss Barrington turned and touched his shoulder.  The man, looking up suddenly, saw her and her niece standing close beside her.

“Madam,” he said hoarsely, though it was Maud Barrington he glanced at, “the comedy is over.  Well, I promised you an explanation, and now you have it you will try not to think too bitterly of me.  I cannot ask you to forgive me.”

The little white-haired lady pointed to the ears of wheat which stood gleaming ruddy bronze in front of him.

“That,” she said, very quietly, “will make it easier.”

Maud Barrington said nothing, but every one in the room saw her standing a moment beside the man, with a little flush on her face and no blame in her eyes.  Then she passed on, but short as it was the pause had been very significant, for it seemed that whatever the elders of the community might decide, the two women, whose influence was supreme at Silverdale, had given the impostor absolution.

The girl could not analyze her feelings, but through them all a vague relief was uppermost, for whatever he had been it was evident the man had done one wrong only, and daringly, and that was a good deal easier to forgive than several incidents in Courthorne’s past would have been.  Then she was conscious that Miss Barrington’s eyes were upon her.