ter's expression, she
continued: "You dear virtuous people are a little narrow in your ideas;
you can't understand that there's room for the greatest difference of
opinion even in a harmonious family, and that it's very silly to drive
the nonconformer into rebellion. Variety's a law of nature and tends to
life."

Colston glanced meaningly at his wife. He was not a hypercritical person,
but it did not please him that his sister-in-law, of whom he was fond,
should champion Jernyngham.

"I don't wish to be severe on Cyril," he rejoined. "As a matter of fact,
I know nothing good or bad about his Canadian life; but he must be
regarded as, so to speak, on probation until he has proved that he
deserves our confidence."

Muriel made no answer. She was looking out of the window toward the west,
and the glow on the vast plain's rim seized her attention. The sunset
flush had faded, but the sky shone a transcendent green. The air was very
clear; every wavy line of bluff was picked out in a wonderful deep blue.
Muriel thought she had never seen such strength and vividness of color.
Then she glanced round the long car. It was comfortable except for the
jolting; the silvery gray of its cane-backed seats contrasted with the
paneling of deep brown. The big lamps and metal fittings gleamed with
nickel. All the girl saw connected her with luxurious civilization, and
she wondered with a stirring of curiosity what awaited her in the wilds,
where man still grappled with nature in primitive fashion.

"Sebastian in three or four minutes!" announced the conductor; and while
Muriel and Mrs. Colston gathered together a few odds and ends a scream of
the whistle broke out.

Prescott heard it on the station platform and with strong misgivings
braced himself for his task. A bright light was speeding down the track,
blending with that flung out by a freight locomotive crossing the
switches. Then amid the clangor of the bell the long cars rolled in and
he saw a man standing on the platform of one. There was no doubt that he
was an Englishman and Prescott hurried toward the car.

"Mr. Henry Colston?" he asked.

The man held out his hand.

"I think Harry is sufficient. Come and speak to Florence; she has been
looking forward to meeting you with interest." He turned. "My dear, this
is Cyril."

Prescott shook hands with the lady on the car platform, and then looked
past her in confused surprise. A girl stood in the vestibule, clad in
garments o