“She loved him,” said Helen softly.  “Love gave her patience and cleverness.  However, I think Sadie did not always lead Bob.  She knew when to drive.”

Festing was silent for a few moments and then went on:  “Well, I have confessed two blunders and think it has done me good; but I’m getting nearer what I want to say.  Bob’s something of a philosopher and once remarked that events and people seldom force us into coils; our passions and characters entangle us.  He was scoffing at the power of the theatrical villain and used Wilkinson for an example.”

“But Wilkinson had something to do with our troubles.”

“Not very much, after all.  Perhaps he’s accountable for my broken bones, but it was my obstinacy and ridiculous self-confidence that sent me here.  That’s what I really mean to talk about.”

“Is it necessary?” Helen asked.  “I was foolish to be jealous of the farm.  Women have sometimes worse grounds for jealousy.”

“That would have been impossible for us!  Nobody who knew you could be attracted by another woman.”

“Bob was attracted,” said Helen with a blush.  “One must own that he was prudent.  I haven’t Sadie’s courage and patience.”

“In those days, Bob was a besotted whisky-tank; but we are not going to talk about him.  I’m afraid I was forgetful and went my own way like an obstinate fool.  It was wrong, ridiculously wrong; I’m not going to excuse myself, but I want you to understand.”

He paused, for effort and emotion had tired him, but presently resumed:  “I wouldn’t use your money, but this wasn’t altogether because I was too proud to let you help.  I wanted to keep you safe; farming’s a risky business, and I couldn’t play a niggardly, cautious game.  There was the land, waiting to be worked; I couldn’t spare labor or money.  But since both might be lost, I was afraid to use your fortune as a stake.”

“I understand,” said Helen.  “All the same, I would have been glad to take the risk.  I don’t think I’m very much afraid of hardship—­”

Festing smiled.  “You have pluck, but don’t know the strain that the wives of the struggling farmers have to bear.  My object is to see that you don’t know.  But there’s another thing, harder to explain; you felt that I neglected you, and I fear I did!”

“You didn’t mean to neglect me.  Perhaps I was foolish, Stephen, but I felt you left me out.  There were ways I could have helped.”

“I took the wrong line; that’s plain now, but we must think of the future and not make the same mistake.  You are first with me, Helen, but I must work; it’s all I’m fit for.  I can’t play games and am not an amusing talker—­though I’m talking at large to-night.  Well, we have made our home on the prairie, and all round us the best wheat-soil in the world is lying waste.  They’re getting short of food in Europe, America will soon use all she grows, and folks in the older countries fix their eyes on us.  Then we have room for an industrious population on our wide plains, cities are waiting to spring up, a new nation is being born.  I and the others who were given the land must clear the way.  It’s our business, our only justification for being there.  Sounds romantic and exaggerated, but I think it’s true!”