ife, and no sound from the house reached them to break the
heavy stillness.

Then she nerved herself to the effort, and spoke quietly for several
minutes before she glanced at her companion. It was very evident that
the latter had understood all that she had said, for she sat very still
with a hard, set face.

"Oh!" she said, "if I'd thought you'd come to tell me this because you
were vexed with me, I'd know what to do."

This was what Agatha had dreaded. It certainly looked as if she had
come to triumph over her rival's humiliation, but Sally made it clear
that she acquitted her of that intention.

"Still," she said, "I know that wasn't the reason, and I'm not mad
with--you. It hurts"--and she made a little abrupt movement--"but I
know it's true." Then she turned to Agatha suddenly. "Why did you do
it?"

"I thought you might save Gregory, if I told you."

[Illustration: "'I thought you might save Gregory, if I told you.'"]

"That was all?" and Sally looked at her with incredulous eyes.

"No," said Agatha simply, "that was only part. It did not seem right
that Gregory should go against Wyllard's wishes, and gamble the Range
away on the wheat market."

She admitted it without hesitation, for she realised now exactly what
had animated her to seek this painful interview. She was fighting
Wyllard's battle, and that fact sustained her.

Sally winced. "Yes," she said, "I guess you had to tell me. He was
fond of you. One could be proud of that. Harry Wyllard never did
anything low down and mean."

Agatha did not resent her candour. Although this was a thing she would
scarcely have credited a little while ago, she saw that the girl felt
the contrast between her lover's character and that of the man whose
place he had taken, and regretted it. Then Agatha's eyes grew a trifle
hazy.

"Wyllard, they think, is dead," she said, in a low, strained voice.
"You have Gregory still."

Sally looked at her with unveiled compassion, and Agatha did not shrink
from it.

"Yes," she said, with a simplicity that became her, "and Gregory must
have someone to--take care of him. I must do it if I can."

There was no doubt that Agatha was stirred. This half-taught girl's
quiet acceptance of the burden that many women must carry once more
made her almost ashamed.

"We will leave it to you," she said.

Then it became evident that there was another side to Sally's
character, for her manner changed, and the suggestiv