There was but one lamp lighted in the hall at Cedar Range, and that was turned low, but there was light enough to satisfy Clavering, who stood beneath it with Hetty’s maid close beside him and a little red leather case in his hand. The girl’s eyes were eager, but they were fixed upon the case and not the man, who had seen the keenness in them and was not displeased. Clavering had met other women in whom cupidity was at least as strong as vanity.

“Now I wonder if you can guess what is inside there, and who it is for,” he said.

The maid drew a trifle nearer, stooping slightly over the man’s hand, and she probably knew that the trace of shyness, which was not all assumed, became her. She was also distinctly conscious that the pose she fell into displayed effectively a prettily rounded figure.

“Something for Miss Torrance?” she said.

Clavering’s laugh was, as his companion noticed, not quite spontaneous. “No,” he said. “I guess you know as well as I do that Miss Torrance would not take anything of this kind from me. She has plenty of them already.”

The maid knew this was a fact, for she had occasionally spent a delightful half-hour adorning herself with Hetty’s jewellery.

“Well,” she said, with a little tremor of anticipation in her voice, “what is inside it?”

Clavering laid the case in her hand. “It is yours,” he said. “Just press that spring.”

It was done, and she gasped as a gleam of gold and a coloured gleam met her eyes. “My!” she said. “They’re real—and it’s for me?”

Clavering smiled a little, and taking her fingers lightly closed them on the case.

“Of course,” he said. “Well, you’re pleased with it?”

The sparkle in the girl’s eyes and the little flush in her face was plain enough, but the man’s soft laugh was perfectly genuine. It was scarcely a gift he had made her; but while he expected that the outlay upon the trinket would be repaid him, he could be generous when it suited him, and was quite aware that a less costly lure would have served his purpose equally. He also knew when it was advisable to offer something more tasteful than the obtrusive dollar.

“Oh,” said the girl, “it’s just lovely!”

Clavering, who had discretion, did not look round, but, though he kept his dark eyes on his companion’s face, he listened carefully. He could hear the wind outside, and the crackle of the stove, but nothing else, and knew that the footsteps of anyone approaching would ring tolerably distinctly down the corridor behind the hall. He also remembered that the big door nearest them was shut.

“Well,” he said, “it wouldn’t do to put anything that wasn’t pretty on a neck like that, and I wonder if you would let me fix it.”

The girl made no protest; but though she saw the admiration in the man’s dark eyes as she covertly looked up, it would have pleased her better had he been a trifle more clumsy. His words and glances were usually bold enough, but, as he clasped the little brooch on, his fingers were almost irritatingly deft and steady. Men, she knew, did not make fools of themselves from a purely artistic appreciation of feminine comeliness.

“Now,” she said, slipping away from him with a blush, “I wonder what you expect for this.”

Clavering’s eyebrows went up and there was a faint assumption of haughtiness in his face, which became it.

“Only the pleasure of seeing it where it is. It’s a gift,” he said.

“Well,” said the girl, “that was very kind of you; but you’re quite sure you never gave Miss Torrance anything of this kind?”

“No. I think I told you so.”

The maid was not convinced. “But,” she said, looking at him sideways, “I thought you did. She has a little gold chain, very thin, and not like the things they make now—and just lately she is always wearing it.”

“I never saw it.”

The girl smiled significantly. “I guess that’s not astonishing. She wears it low down on her neck—and the curious thing is that it lay by and she never looked at it for ever so long.”

Clavering felt that the dollars the trinket had cost him had not been wasted; but though he concealed his disgust tolerably well, the maid noticed it. She had, however, vague ambitions, and a scarcely warranted conviction that, given a fair field, she could prove herself a match for her mistress.

“Then, if it wasn’t you, it must have been the other man,” she said.

“The other man?”

“Yes,” with a laugh. “The one I took the wallet with the dollars to.”

Clavering hoped he had not betrayed his astonishment; but she had seen the momentary flash in his eyes and the involuntary closing of his hand.

“Now,” he said firmly, “that can’t be quite straight, and one should be very careful about saying that kind of thing.”

The girl looked at him steadily. “Still, I took a wallet with dollar bills in it to Mr. Grant—at night. I met him on the bluff, and Miss Torrance sent them him.”

It was possible that Clavering would have heard more had he followed the line of conduct he had adopted at first; but he stood thoughtfully silent instead, which did not by any means please his companion as well. He had a vague notion that this was a mistake; but the anger he did not show was too strong for him. Then, he fancied he heard a footstep on the stairway, and laughed in a somewhat strained fashion.

“Well, we needn’t worry about that; and I guess if I stay here any longer, Mr. Torrance will be wondering where I have gone,” he said.

He went out by one door, and a few moments later Miss Schuyler came in by another. She swept a hasty glance round the hall, most of which was in the shadow, and her eyes caught the faint sparkle at the maid’s neck. The next moment the girl moved back out of the light; but Miss Schuyler saw her hand go up, and fancied there was something in it when it came down again. She had also heard a man’s footstep, and could put two and two together.

“Miss Torrance wants the silk. It was here, but I don’t see it,” she said. “Who went out a moment or two ago?”

The girl opened a bureau. “Mr. Clavering. He left his cigar-case when he first came in.”

She took out a piece of folded silk, and Miss Schuyler noticed the fashion in which she held it.

“It is the lighter shade we want; but the other piece is very like it. Unroll it so I can see it,” she said.

The maid seemed to find this somewhat difficult; but Miss Schuyler had seen a strip of red leather between the fingers of one hand, and understanding why it was so, went out thoughtfully. She knew the appearance of a jewel-case tolerably well, and had more than a suspicion as to whom the girl had obtained it from. Miss Schuyler, who would not have believed Clavering’s assertion about the trinket had she heard it, wondered what he expected in exchange for it, which perhaps accounted for the fact that she contrived to overtake him in the corridor at the head of the stairs.

“When you left Hetty and me alone we understood it was because Mr. Torrance was waiting for you,” she said.

“Yes,” said Clavering, smiling. “It is scarcely necessary to explain that if he hadn’t been I would not have gone. I fancied he was in the hall.”

Flora Schuyler nodded as though she believed him, but she determined to leave no room for doubt. “He is in his office,” she said. “Have you the deerskin cigar-case you showed us with you? You will remember I was interested in the Indian embroidery.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t,” said Clavering. “Torrance’s cigars are better than mine, so I usually leave mine at home. But I’ll bring the case next time, and if you would like to copy it, I could get you a piece of the dressed hide from one of the Blackfeet.”

He turned away, and Flora Schuyler decided not to tell Hetty what she had heard—Hetty was a little impulsive occasionally—but it seemed to Miss Schuyler that it would be wise to watch her maid and Clavering closely.

In the meantime, the man walked away towards Torrance’s office, considering what the maid had told him. He had found it difficult to credit, but her manner had convinced him, and he realized that he could not afford the delay he had hitherto considered advisable. A young woman, he reflected, would scarcely send a wallet of dollars at night to a man whose plans were opposed to her father’s without a strong motive, and the fact that Hetty wore a chain hidden about her neck had its meaning. He had, like most of his neighbours, laughed at Larry’s hopeless devotion, but he had seen similar cases in which the lady at last relented, and while he knew Hetty’s loyalty to her own people, and scarcely thought that she had more than a faint, tolerant tenderness for Larry, it appeared eminently desirable to prevent anything of that kind happening. Torrance, who was sitting smoking, glanced at him impatiently when he went in.

“You have been a long while,” he said.

“I have a sufficient excuse, sir,” said Clavering.

“Well,” said Torrance drily, “they are quite clever girls, but I have found myself wishing lately they were a long way from here. That, however, is not what I want to talk about. Apparently none of us can get hold of Larry.”

“It is not for the want of effort. There are few things that would please me better.”

Torrance glanced at Clavering sharply. “No. I fancied once or twice you had a score of your own against him. In fact, I heard Allonby say something of the same kind, too.”

“Chris is a trifle officious,” said Clavering. “Any way, it’s quite evident that we shall scarcely hold the homestead-boys back until we get our thumb on Larry.”

“How are we going to do it? He has come out ahead of us so far.”

“We took the wrong way,” said Clavering. “Now, Larry, as you know, puts all his dealings through the Tillotson Company. Tillotson, as I found out in Chicago, has a free hand to buy stocks or produce with his balances, and Larry, who does not seem to bank his dollars, draws on him. It’s not an unusual thing. Well, I’ve been writing to folks in Chicago, and they tell me Tillotson is in quite a tight place since the upward move in lard. It appears he has been selling right along for a fall.”

Torrance looked thoughtful. “Tillotson is a straight man, but I’ve had a notion he has been financing some of the homestead-boys. He handles all Larry’s dollars?”

Clavering nodded. “He put them into lard. Now, the Brand Company hold Tillotson’s biggest contract, and if it suited them they could break him. I don’t think they want to. Tillotson is a kind of useful man to them.”

Torrance brought his fist down on the table. “Well,” he said grimly, “we have a stronger pull than Tillotson. Most of the business in this country goes to them, and if he thought it worth while, Brand would sell all his relations up to-morrow. I’ll go right through to Chicago and fix the thing.”

Clavering smiled. “If you can manage it, you will cut off Larry’s supplies.”

“Then,” said Torrance, “I’ll start to-morrow. Still, I don’t want to leave the girls here, and it would suit me if you could drive them over to Allonby’s. I don’t mind admitting that they have given me a good deal of anxiety, though they’ve made things pleasant, too, and I’ve ’most got afraid of wondering what Cedar will feel like when they go away.”

“Will Miss Torrance go away?”

“She will,” said Torrance, with a little sigh, though there was pride in his eyes, “when the trouble’s over—but not before. She came home to see the old man through.”

Clavering seized the opportunity. “Did you ever contemplate the possibility of Miss Torrance marrying anybody here?”

“I have a notion that there’s nobody good enough,” Torrance said quickly.

Clavering nodded, though he felt the old man’s eyes upon him, and did not relish the implication. “Still, I fancy the same difficulty would be met with anywhere else, and that encourages me to ask if you would have any insuperable objections to myself?”

Torrance looked at him steadily. “I have been expecting this. Once I thought it was Miss Schuyler; but she does not like you.”

“I am sorry,” and Clavering wondered whether his host was right, “though, the latter fact is not of any great moment. I have long had a sincere respect for Miss Torrance, but I am afraid it would be difficult to tell you all I think of her.”

“The point,” said Torrance, somewhat grimly, “is what she thinks of you.”

“I don’t know. It did not seem quite fitting to ask her until I had spoken to you.”

Torrance said nothing for almost a minute, and to Clavering the silence became almost intolerable. The old man’s forehead was wrinkled and he stared at the wall in front of him with vacant eyes. Then, he spoke very slowly.

“That was the square thing, and I have to thank you. For twenty years now I have worked and saved for Hetty—that she might have the things her mother longed for and never got. And I’ve never been sorry—the girl is good all through. It is natural that she should marry; and even so far as the dollars go, she will bring as much to her husband as he can give her, and if it’s needful more; but there are one or two points about you I don’t quite like.”

The old man’s voice vibrated and his face grew softer and the respect that Clavering showed when he answered was not all assumed.

“I know my own unworthiness, sir, but I think any passing follies I may have indulged in are well behind me now.”

“Well,” said Torrance drily, “it’s quite hard to shake some tastes and habits off, and one or two of them have a trick of hanging on to the man who thinks he has done with them. Now, I want a straight answer. Do you know any special reason why it would not be the square thing for you to marry my daughter?”

A faint colour crept into Clavering’s face. “I know a good many which would make the bargain unfair to her,” he said, “but there are very few men in this country who would be good enough for her.”

Torrance checked him with a lifted hand. “That is not what I mean. It is fortunate for most of us that women of her kind believe the best of us and can forgive a good deal. I am not speaking generally: do you know any special reason—one that may make trouble for both of you? It’s a plain question, and you understand it. If you do, we’ll go into the thing right now, and then, if it can be got over, never mention it again.”

Clavering sat silent, knowing well that delay might be fatal, and yet held still by something he had heard in the old man’s voice and seen in his eyes. However, he had succeeded in signally defeating one blackmailer.

“Sir,” he said, very slowly, “I know of no reason now.”

Torrance had not moved his eyes from him. “Then,” he said, “I can only take your word. You are one of us and understand the little things that please girls like Hetty. If she will take you, you can count on my good will.”

Clavering made a little gesture of thanks. “I ask nothing more, and may wait before I urge my suit; but it seems only fair to tell you that my ranching has not been very profitable lately and my affairs——”

Torrance cut him short. “In these things it is the man that counts the most, and not the dollars. You will not have to worry over that point, now you have told me I can trust Hetty to you.”

He said a little more on the same subject, and then Clavering went out with unpleasantly confused sensations through which a feeling of degradation came uppermost. He had not led an exemplary life, but pride had kept him clear of certain offences, and he had as yet held his word sacred when put upon his honour. It was some minutes before he ventured to join Hetty and Miss Schuyler, who he knew by the sound of the piano were in the hall.

Hetty sat with her fingers on the keyboard, the soft light of the lamps in the sconces shining upon her—very pretty, very dainty, an unusual softness in the eyes. She turned towards Clavering.

“You went in to get it”—touching the music—“just because you heard me say I would like those songs. A four days’ ride, and a blizzard raging on one of them!” she said.

Clavering looked at her gravely with something in his eyes that puzzled Miss Schuyler, who had expected a wittily graceful speech.

“You are pleased with them?” he said.

“Yes,” said the girl impulsively. “But I feel horribly mean because I sent you, although, of course, I didn’t mean to. It was very kind of you, but you must not do anything of that kind again.”

Clavering, who did not appear quite himself, watched her turn over the music in silence, for though the last words were spoken quietly, there was, he and Miss Schuyler fancied, a definite purpose behind them.

“Then, you will sing one of them?” he said.

Hetty touched the keys—there was a difference in her when she sang, for music was her passion, and as the clear voice thrilled the two who listened, a flush of exaltation, that was almost spiritual, crept into her face. Clavering set his lips, and when the last notes sank into the stillness Miss Schuyler wondered what had brought the faint dampness to his forehead. She did not know that all that was good in him had revolted against what he had done, and meant to do, just then, and had almost gained the mastery. Unfortunately, instead of letting Hetty sing again and fix Clavering’s half-formed resolution, she allowed her distrust of him to find expression; for capable young woman though she was, Flora Schuyler sometimes blundered.

“The song was worth the effort,” she said. “Mr. Clavering is, however, evidently willing to do a good deal to give folks pleasure.”

Clavering glanced at her with a little smile. “Folks? That means more than one.”

“Yes; it generally means at least two.”

Hetty laughed as she looked round. “Is there anybody else he has been giving music to?”

“I fancy the question is unnecessary,” Flora said. “He told us he came straight here, and there is nobody but you and I at Cedar he would be likely to bring anything to.”

“Of course not! Well, I never worry over your oracular observations. They generally mean nothing when you understand them,” said Hetty.

Flora Schuyler smiled maliciously at Clavering. She did not know that when a good deed hung in the balance she had, by rousing his intolerance of opposition, just tipped the beam.