le to her lips. It was easy to forgive Gregory
that, for she now saw him as he was--shallow, careless, shiftless, a man
without depth of character. He had a few surface graces, and on occasion
a certain half-insolent forcefulness of manner which in a curious
fashion was almost becoming. There was, however, nothing beneath the
surface. He was, it seemed, quite willing that a woman should help him
out of the trouble in which he had involved himself, for she had no
doubt that Sally had sent Hastings on his incomprehensible errand.

Then a clear voice came in through the window, and turning towards it
Agatha discovered that a young lad clad in blue duck was singing as he
drove his binder through the grain. The song was a simple one which had
some vogue just then upon the prairie, but her eyes grew suddenly hazy
as odd snatches of it reached her through the beat of hoofs, the clash
of the binder's arms and the rustle of the flung-out sheaves.

"My Bonny lies over the ocean,
My Bonny lies over the sea."

The youth called to his horses, and it was a few moments before she
heard again--

"Bring back my Bonny to me."

A quiver ran through her as she leaned upon the window frame. There was
a certain pathos in the simple strain, and she could fancy that the lad,
who was clearly English, as an exile felt it, too. Once more as the
jaded horses and clashing machine grew smaller down the edge of the
great sweep of yellow grain, his voice came faintly up to her with its
haunting thrill of longing and regret--

"Bring back my Bonny to me."

This in her case was more than anyone could do, and as she stood
listening a tear splashed upon her closed hands. The man, by comparison
with whom Gregory appeared a mere lay figure, was in all probability
lying still far up in the solitudes of the frozen North, with his last
grim journey done. This time, however, he had not carried her picture
with him. Gregory was to blame for that, and it was the one thing she
could not forgive him.

She leaned against the window for another minute, struggling with an
almost uncontrollable longing, and looking out upon the sweep of golden
wheat and whitened grass with brimming eyes, until there was a rattle of
wheels, and she saw Edmonds drive away. She heard voices in the
corridor, and it became evident that Hastings was speaking to his wife.

"I've got rid of the man, and