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Winston of the Prairie by Harold Bindloss

H >> Harold Bindloss >> Winston of the Prairie




He could not remember what he or the others talked about during the
meal, but he had a vague notion that there was now and then a silence
of attention when he answered a question, and that the little lady's
face grew momentarily grave when, as the voices sank a trifle, he
turned to her.

"I would have paid my respects to Colonel Barrington, but Dane did not
consider it advisable," he said.

"No," said Miss Barrington. "He has talked a good deal about you
during the last two days, but he is sleeping now, and we did not care
to disturb him. I am afraid you will find a great change in him when
you see him."

Winston asked no more questions on that topic until later in the
evening, when he found a place apart from the rest by Miss Barrington's
side. He fancied this would not have happened without her connivance,
and she seemed graver than usual when he stood by her chair.

"I don't wish to pain you, but I surmise that Colonel Barrington is
scarcely well enough to be consulted about anything of importance just
now," he said.

Miss Barrington made a little gesture of assent. "We usually pay him
the compliment, but I am almost afraid he will never make a decision of
moment again."

"Then," said Winston slowly, "you stand in his place, and I fancy you
know why I have come back to Silverdale. Will you listen for a very
few minutes while I tell you about my parents and what my upbringing
has been? I must return to Winnipeg, for a time at least, to-morrow."

Miss Barrington signed her willingness, and the man spoke rapidly with
a faint trace of hoarseness. Then he looked down on her.

"Madam," he said, "I have told you everything, partly from respect for
those who only by a grim sacrifice did what they could for me, and that
you may realize the difference between myself and the rest at
Silverdale. I want to be honest now at least, and I discovered, not
without bitterness at the time, that the barriers between our castes
are strong in the old country."

Miss Barrington smiled a little. "Have I ever made you feel it here?"

"No," said Winston gravely. "Still, I am going to put your forbearance
to a strenuous test. I want your approval. I have a question to ask
your niece to-night."

"If I withheld it?"

"It would hurt me," said Winston. "Still, I would not be astonished,
and I could not blame you."

"But it would make no difference?"

"Yes," said Winston gravely. "It would, but it would not cause me to
desist. Nothing would do that, if Miss Barrington can overlook the
past."

The little white-haired lady smiled at him. "Then," she said, "if it
is any comfort to you, you have my good wishes. I do not know what
Maud's decision will be, but that is the spirit which would have
induced me to listen in times long gone by!"

She rose and left him, and it may have been by her arranging that
shortly afterwards Winston found Maud Barrington passing through the
dimly-lighted hall. He opened the door she moved towards a trifle, and
then stood facing her, with it in his hand.

"Will you wait a moment, and then you may pass if you wish," he said.
"I had one great inducement for coming here to-night. I wonder if you
know what it is?"

The girl stood still and met his gaze, though, dim as the light was,
the man could see the crimson in her cheeks.

"Yes," she said, very quietly.

"Then," said Winston, with a little smile, though the fingers on the
door quivered visibly, "I think the audacity you once mentioned must
have returned to me, for I am going to make a very great venture."

For a moment Maud Barrington turned her eyes away. "It is the daring
venture that most frequently succeeds."

Then she felt the man's hand on her shoulder, and, that he was
compelling her to look up at him.

"It is you I came for," he said quietly. "Still, for you know the
wrong I have done, I dare not urge you, and have little to offer. It
is you who must give everything, if you can come down from your station
and be content with mine."

"One thing," said Maud Barrington, very softly, "is, however,
necessary."

"That," said Winston, "was yours ever since we spent the night in the
snow."

The girl felt his grip upon her shoulder grow almost painful, but her
eyes shone softly when she lifted her head again.

"Then," she said, "what I can give is yours--and it seems you have
already taken possession."

Winston drew her towards him, and it may have been by Miss Barrington's
arranging that nobody entered the hall, but at last the girl glanced up
at the man half-shyly as she said, "Why did you wait so long?"

"It was well worth while," said Winston. "Still, I think you know."

"Yes," said Maud Barrington softly. "Now, at least, I can tell you I
am glad you went away--but if you had asked me I would have gone with
you."

It was some little time later when Miss Barrington came in and, after a
glance at Winston, kissed her niece. Then she turned to the man. "My
brother is asking for you," she said. "Will you come up with me?"

Winston followed her, and hid his astonishment when he found Colonel
Barrington lying in a big chair. His face was haggard and pale, his
form seemed to have grown limp and fragile, and the hand he held out
trembled.

"Lance," he said, "I am very pleased to have you home again. I hear
you have done wonders in the city, but you are, I think, the first of
your family who could ever make money. I have, as you will see, not
been well lately."

"I am relieved to find you better than I expected, sir," said Winston
quietly. "Still, I fancy you are forgetting what I told you the night
I went away."

Barrington nodded, and then made a little impatient gesture. "There
was something unpleasant, but my memory seems to be going, and my
sister has forgiven you. I know you did a good deal for us at
Silverdale, and showed yourself a match for the best of them in the
city. That pleases me. By and by, you will take hold here after me."

Winston glanced at Miss Barrington, who smiled somewhat sadly.

"I am glad you mentioned that, sir, because I purpose staying at
Silverdale now," he said. "It leads up to what I have to ask you."

Barrington's perceptions seemed to grow clearer, and he asked a few
pertinent questions before he nodded approbation.

"Yes," he said, "she is a good girl--a very good girl, and it would be
a suitable match. I should like somebody to send for her."

Maud Barrington came in softly, with a little glow in her eyes and a
flush on her face, and Barrington smiled at her.

"My dear, I am very pleased, and I wish you every happiness," he said.
"Once I would scarcely have trusted you to Lance, but he will forgive
me, and has shown me that I was wrong. You and he will make Silverdale
famous, and it is comforting to know, now my rest is very near, that
you have chosen a man of your own station to follow me. With all our
faults and blunders, blood is bound to tell."

Winston saw that Miss Barrington's eyes were a trifle misty, and he
felt his face grow hot, but the girl's fingers touched his arm, and he
followed, when, while her aunt signed approbation, she led him away.
Then when they stood outside she laid her hands upon his face and drew
it down to her.

"You will forget it, dear, and he is still wrong. If you had been
Lance Courthorne I should never have done this," she said.

"No," said the man gravely. "I think there are many ways in which he
is right, but you can be content with Winston the prairie farmer?"

Maud Barrington drew closer to him with a little smile in her eyes.
"Yes," she said simply. "There never was a Courthorne who could stand
beside him."

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