Their punishment did not last long.  The hail got thinner and the lumps smaller; the roar diminished and Festing heard it recede across the plain.  The wind was still savage, but it was falling, and the thunder sounded farther off.  There was a savage downpour of drenching rain, and when this moderated he pulled himself together, and turning the horses, resumed his journey.  He was wet to the skin, his shoulders were sore, and his face and hands were bruised and cut.  Pieces of ice, some as large as hazelnuts, lay about the wagon, and the wild barley lay flat beside the trail.  Not a blade of grass stood upright as far as he could see, and the ruts in which the wheels churned were full of melting hail and water.

It was getting dark when his homestead rose out of the plain; a shadowy group of buildings, marked by two or three twinkling lights.  He was wet and cold, but he stopped by the wheat and nerved himself to see what had happened to the crop.  He had not had much hope, but for all that got something of a shock.  There was no standing grain; the great field looked as if it had been mown.  Bruised stalks and torn blades lay flat in a tattered, tangled mass, splashed with sticky mud.  The rain that might have saved him had come too late and was finishing the ruin the sand and hail had made.

Then the downpour thickened and the light died out, and he drove to the house.  He could see in the morning if any remnant of the crop could be cut, but there would not be enough to make much difference.  Hope had gone, and his face was stern when he called the hired man and got down stiffly from the dripping rig.

CHAPTER XVIII

HELEN MAKES A MISTAKE

When Festing had changed his clothes he entered the small sitting-room with an effort at cheerfulness.  The room was unusually comfortable for a prairie homestead.  The floor was stained, rugs were spread on the polished boards, and Helen had drawn the curtains, which harmonized in color with the big easy chairs.  There were books in well-made cases, and two or three good pictures on the painted walls, while a tall brass lamp with a deep shade threw down a soft light.  Helen had put a meal on the table, and Festing sat down with a feeling that was half uneasiness and half content.

While he ate he glanced at his wife.  She wore a pretty and rather fashionable dress that she kept for evenings.  She looked fresh and vigorous, although the summer had been hot and she worked hard; the numerous petty difficulties she had to contend with had left no mark.  Her courage had always been evident, but she had shown a resolution that Festing had not quite expected.  He admired it, in a way, but it was sometimes awkward when they took a different point of view.