e death of his friend, and
the painstaking corporal might discover something more damaging. Prescott
fancied that one or two of his acquaintances who now and then rode across
his farm on different errands returned his greeting with a new and
significant coldness.

Jernyngham spent much of his time at the muskeg, encouraging the men who
searched it and often assisting in the work. The whole morass was being
systematically turned over with the spade, but no further discoveries had
been made. In addition to this, Jernyngham rode to and fro about the
prairie, talking to the farmers whom he met on the trail or found at work
in the fields. They were all sorry for him, but there was something
deterrent in his sternness and his formal English manner, and they were
less communicative than they might have been. This was why he failed to
learn that the Colstons had stayed at Prescott's homestead, though, for
that matter, the fact was not generally known. The man could not rest;
tormented by regrets for his past harshness, he was bent on making the
only amend he could by hunting down the slayer of his son. His whole mind
was fixed on the task, and he brooded over it in a manner that aroused
his daughter's concern. She dreaded the effect a continuance of the
strain might have.

Gertrude, however, was relieved of a more pressing anxiety. Though her
father steadfastly refused to entertain it, she shared Prescott's belief
that her brother was not dead. For one thing, Cyril was not the man to
come badly to grief; he had done many reckless things and somehow escaped
the worst results. Illogical as the idea was, she felt that his luck was
good. It was a comforting reflection and she was sensible of a growing
confidence in the farmer, who encouraged her to cling to it.

One afternoon she left the house and strolled across the harvest fields,
which had greatly changed in appearance since she had first seen them.
The oats were all stooked and stood in silvery sheaves, ready for the
thrasher; the great stretch of wheat had melted down to a narrow oblong,
round which the binders were working. Gertrude stopped to watch them. The
plodding horses, the bent figures of the men, the play of light on
falling grain, and the revolving arms of the machines fixed her eyes; the
rustle of sheaves, the crackle of stubble, and the musical tinkle of
metal, fell pleasantly on her ears. The mornings and evenings were cold
now, but the days were hot and bright