There was a charm in coming back to a home like this when he was tired and disappointed, but its taste and comfort were now disturbing.  For one thing, he had perhaps not made the best use of his privileges, and, for another, Helen might have to be satisfied with a simpler mode of life.  It hurt him to think of this, because he had hoped to beautify the house still further, so that she should miss nothing she had been used to in the Old Country.  It was obvious that she understood something of his misfortune, for her look was sympathetic; but she let him finish his supper before she began to talk.

“Your jacket is badly torn, Stephen,” she remarked when he lighted his pipe.  “And how did you cut your face?”

“The hail was pretty fierce.”

“It was terrible.  We never had storms like that in England.  I was frightened when I thought of your being out on the prairie.  But I don’t mean the small bruises.  How did you cut your forehead?”

“Oh, that!” said Festing awkwardly.  “I did it when I fell over a stove at the settlement.  The pipe came down and I imagine the edge struck me.”

“You would have known if it hit you nor not.”

“Well, it might have been the top of the stove.  The molding was sharp.”

“But how did you fall against the stove?” Helen persisted.

Festing did not want to tell her about the fight with Wilkinson.  He had resolved to say nothing about the matter until morning.

“I tripped.  There was a chair in the way and it caught my foot.”

Helen did not look altogether satisfied, but let the matter go.

“Has the hail done much damage to the wheat?”

“Yes,” said Festing, with grim quietness.  “I imagine it has done all the damage that was possible.  So far as I could see, the crop’s wiped out.”

They were sitting near together, and Helen, leaning forward, put her hand on his arm with a gesture of sympathy.

“Poor Stephen!  I’m dreadfully sorry.  It must have been a blow.”

Festing’s hard look softened.  “It was.  When I stopped beside the wreck I felt knocked out, but getting home braced me up.  I begin to feel I might have had a worse misfortune and mustn’t exaggerate the importance of the loss.”

Helen was silent for a few minutes, but she was sensible of a certain relief.  She was sorry for her husband, but there was some compensation, since it looked as if a ray of light had dawned on him.  Although she had struggled against the feeling, she was jealous of the farm that had kept him away from her.

“I think you sowed too large a crop, and you could not have gone on working as you have done,” she said.  “It would have worn you out.”

Festing put down his pipe and looked at her with surprise.  “You don’t seem to understand that I’ll have to work harder than before.”

“I don’t understand,” said Helen, taking away her hand.  “To begin with, it’s impossible; then I’d hoped the loss of money, serious as it is, would have made you cautious and, in a sense, more content.”