rices break a little we generally rush to sell. One or two of my
neighbours are, however, holding on, and it's hardly likely that very
much of my wheat will be flung on to a falling market."

"We have been getting a good deal from the Range."

There was displeasure in Hastings's face. "Gregory's selling largely
on Harry's account?"

"They've been hauling wheat in to us for the last few weeks," said
Winifred.

Hastings, as Agatha noticed, glanced at his wife significantly, but she
interposed and forbade any further conversation of the kind until
supper was over, while when the table had been cleared Hastings opened
his papers. The rest sat expectantly silent, while he turned them over
one after another.

"No," he said, "there's no news of Harry, and I'm afraid it's scarcely
possible that we'll hear anything of him this winter."

Agatha was conscious that Mrs. Hastings's eyes were upon her, and she
sat very still, though her heart was beating a little faster than
usual. Hastings, however, went on again.

"The _Colonist_ has a line or two about a barque from Alaska, which put
into Victoria short of stores," he said. "She was sent up to an A.C.C.
factory, and had to clear out before she was ready. The ice, it seems,
was closing in unusually early. A steam whaler at Portland reports the
same thing, and from the news brought by a steamer from Japan all
communication with North-Eastern Asia is already cut off."

None of the others said anything for a moment or two, and Agatha,
leaning back in her chair, glanced round the room. There was not much
furniture in it, but, though this was unusual on the prairie, door and
double casements were guarded by heavy hangings. The big brass lamp
overhead shed down a cheerful light, the birch billets in the stove
snapped and crackled noisily, and its pipe, which was far too hot to
touch, diffused a drowsy heat. One could lounge beside it contentedly,
knowing that the stinging frost was drying the snow to dusty powder
outside. That heightened the contrast, for Agatha pictured the little
schooner bound fast in the Northern ice, and then two or three
travel-worn men crouching in a tiny tent buffeted by an Arctic gale.
She could see the poles bend, and the tricings strain.

After that, with a sudden transition, her thoughts went back to the
early morning when Wyllard had driven away, and every detail of the
scene rose up clearly in her mind. She saw him and the stolid Dampi