Next morning Festing came in for breakfast, feeling gloomy and preoccupied.  He had not slept much and got up early to examine the damaged grain.  It looked worse than he had thought and, for the most part, must be burned off the ground.  There were patches that might, with difficulty, be cut, but he hardly imagined the stooks would pay for thrashing.  Moreover, he had bought and fed a number of expensive Percheron horses, which ought to have been used for harvesting and hauling the grain to the railroad, and had engaged men at lower wages than usual, on the understanding that he kept them through the winter.  Now there was nothing for both to do, although their maintenance would cost as much as before.

He read Kerr’s letter again.  If he had not been married, it would have given him a chance of overcoming his difficulties.  A man and a team of horses could do all that was required on the farm in winter, and he could have taken the others to British Columbia.  Kerr would arrange for free transport, and, if he was lucky, he might earn enough on the railroad to cover part of his loss.  But this was impossible.  He could not leave Helen.

Then there was the other matter.  He had not yet told her what Wilkinson had said, but she must be told, and Bob’s visits must stop.  The trouble was that he had already vexed her by refusing her help, and this would not make his delicate task easier.  Besides, he was not in the mood to use much tact.  His nerves were raw; the shock he had got had left him savage and physically tired.  For all that, the thing could not be put off.

He said nothing until breakfast was over, and then, asking Helen to come with him, went on to the veranda.  The sun was hot, the sky clear, and thin steam drifted across the drenched plain.  Had the storm come without the hail a few weeks sooner, it would have saved his crop; but now the vivifying moisture seemed to mock him.  It had come too late; the wheat had gone.  Struggling with a feeling of depression, he turned to his wife.

“There’s something we must talk about; and I hope you’ll be patient with me if you get a jar.”

He leaned against the balustrade, nervously fingering his pipe, and Helen sat down opposite.  She felt curious and disturbed.

“Well?” she said.

“To begin with, I’ll tell you what happened at the settlement yesterday.  You must remember that the statements are Wilkinson’s.”

Helen’s color rose, and when he stopped her face was flushed and her eyes were very bright.

“Ah,” she said in a strained voice.  “But what did you do?”

Festing smiled rather grimly.  “I dragged the brute about the floor and threw him into the street.  I don’t know that it was a logical denial of the slander, but it was what the others expected and I had to indulge them.”

“And that was how you cut your forehead?”

“Yes,” said Festing, and for a few moments Helen tried to regulate her thoughts.