Mrs. Colston was talking seriously to her sister in a room of the
Leslie homestead. Owing to the number of its inmates, she had found it
difficult to get a word with the girl alone, and now that an opportunity
had come, she felt that she must make the most of it.

"Muriel," she said, "do you think it's judicious to speak so strongly in
Prescott's favor as you have done of late? You were rude to Gertrude last
night."

The girl colored. She had, as a matter of fact, lost her temper, which
was generally quick.

"I hate injustice!" she broke out. "Gertrude and her father make such an
unfair use of everything they can find against him, and I think
Gertrude's the worse of the two." She looked hard at her sister. "She
shows a rancor against the man which even the disappearance of her
brother doesn't account for."

The same idea had occurred to Mrs. Colston, but it was a side issue and
she was not to be drawn away from the point.

"You stick to the word disappearance," she said.

"Yes," Muriel answered steadily. "Cyril Jernyngham isn't dead!"

"You have only Prescott's word for that."

Muriel made no answer for a few moments; then she looked up with a
resolute expression.

"I'm satisfied with it!"

Her sister understood this as a challenge. She had indulged in hints and
indirect warnings, and they had been disregarded. The situation now
needed more drastic treatment.

"That," she said, "is a significant admission; I can't let it pass. Your
prejudice in favor of the man has, of course, been noticeable; you have
even let him see it. Don't you realize what damaging conclusions one
might draw from it?"

"Damaging?" Muriel's eyes were fixed on her sister, though her face was
hot. "As you have been thinking of all this for some time, perhaps you
had better explain and get it over."

Mrs. Colston leaned forward with a severe expression.

"I feel that some candor is necessary. You have taken the man's side
openly; you have sympathized with him; I might even say that you have led
him on."

Muriel's wayward temperament drove her to the verge of an outbreak, but
with an effort at self-control, she sat still, and her sister resumed:

"Besides his lying under suspicion, the man is a mere working farmer,
imperfectly educated, forced to live in a most primitive manner, thinking
of nothing but his crops and horses."

"He is not imperfectly educated! As a matter of fact, he knows more about
most things than we do; but that