“Well,” said Winston, with a little smile, “that is a trifle too deep for me, and it’s difficult to think of anything but the work I have to do.  But you were the first at Silverdale to hold out a hand to me—­and I have a feeling that your good wishes would go a long way now.  Is it altogether fantastic to believe that the good-will of my first friend would help to bring me prosperity?”

The white-haired lady’s eyes grew momentarily soft, and, with a gravity that did not seem out of place, she moved forward and laid her hand on a big horse’s neck, and smiled when the dumb beast responded to her gentle touch.

“It is a good work,” she said.  “Lance, there is more than dollars, or the bread that somebody is needing, behind what you are doing, and because I loved your mother I know how her approval would have followed you.  And now sow in hope, and God speed your plow!”

She turned away almost abruptly, and Winston stood still with one hand closed tightly and a little deeper tint in the bronze of his face, sensible at once of an unchanged resolution and a horrible degradation.  Then he saw that the Colonel had helped Miss Barrington into the saddle and her niece was speaking.

“I have something to ask Mr. Courthorne and will overtake you,” she said.

The others rode on, and the girl turned to Winston.  “I made you a promise and did my best to keep it, but I find it harder than I fancied it would be,” she said.  “I want you to release me.”

“I should like to hear your reasons,” said Winston.

The girl made a faint gesture of impatience.  “Of course, if you insist.”

“I do,” said Winston quietly.

“Then I promised you to have my holding sown this year, and I am still willing to do so, but though my uncle makes no protest, I know he feels my opposition very keenly, and it hurts me horribly.  Unspoken reproaches are the worst to bear, you know, and now Dane and some of the others are following your lead, it is painful to feel that I am taking part with them against the man who has always been kind to me.”

“And you would prefer to be loyal to Colonel Barrington, even if it costs you a good deal?”

“Of course!” said Maud Barrington.  “Can you ask me?”

Winston saw the sparkle in her eyes and the half-contemptuous pride in the poise of the shapely head.  Loyalty, it was evident, was not a figure of speech with her, but he felt that he had seen enough and turned his face aside.

“I knew it would be difficult when I asked,” he said.  “Still, I cannot give you back that promise.  We are going to see a great change this year, and I have set my heart on making all I can for you.”

“But why should you?” asked Maud Barrington, somewhat astonished that she did not feel more angry.

“Well,” said Winston gravely, “I may tell you by and by, and in the meanwhile you can set it down to vanity.  This may be my last venture at Silverdale, and I want to make it a big success.”