took his leave. Prescott stayed another hour, and when he went Muriel
walked to the door with him.

"Jack," she murmured, with her head on his shoulder, "I'm inexpressibly
glad it has all come right; but you must remember that I knew it would."

Prescott gently turned her face toward him.

"I'm so thankful that it makes me grave. It's a pretty big task to repay
your confidence, but I'll try."

"You'll succeed," she said smiling. "You're rather a determined man and
I'm not dreadfully exacting; I couldn't be to you."

Prescott drove off, grateful for Mrs. Colston's permission to come back
the next day.

When he drove up on the following afternoon, he found Muriel dressed in
furs.

"It's beautifully fine and you may take me for a drive," she said, and
added with a smile: "That is, unless you would rather talk to Harry."

"I think Colston and I are going to be good friends, but I didn't come
over to see him," Prescott retorted lightly. "I have something to say to
Cyril, but it will do when we get back."

"You can't see him now," said Muriel, moving toward the sleigh. "He's
engaged with Gertrude and his father, and I think they have something
important to talk about. Cyril looked very serious, and one would imagine
that's not often the case with him."

Prescott laughed as he helped her in.

"I dare say he has his thoughtful moments; it would be surprising if he
hadn't, considering his capacity for getting into scrapes."

They drove away, but Muriel's supposition was well founded, for Cyril was
feeling unusually grave as he sat opposite to his father and sister in a
room of the homestead. A brief silence had fallen upon the group,
emphasized by the crackle of poplar billets in the stove. Jernyngham, in
whose appearance there had been a marked improvement since his son's
return, wore an eager expression; Gertrude was watching her brother with
troubled eyes.

"You have heard my suggestions about your return to England," Jernyngham
said at length. "I think they are fair."

"They are generous," Cyril answered, and added slowly: "But I cannot go."

Jernyngham leaned back in his chair as if he were weary, with keen
disappointment in his face.

"I have no other son, Cyril. We will wipe out the past--there is
something to regret on both sides--and try to make everything pleasant
for you. I feel that you ought to come."

"No," Cyril persisted with signs of strain. "I'm strongly tempted, but it
would not be wise.