Some weeks had passed since Festing went to gather mushrooms when he sat, one evening, on the terrace in front of Gardiner's house. His brows were knit and he had in his had a letter from Kerr at the construction camp. The back of the letter was covered with penciled calculations, but he presently put it down and looked moodily about.

The larches that sheltered the house had been in full leaf when he came, but now they were getting bare. One could see the hills through a fine network of twigs, dotted with minute tassels of gold. The beeches and oaks looked solid yet, but the former shone warm brown and red against the others' fading green. Withered leaves fluttered down, and the smell of a burning heap hung in the damp air.

The touches of brown and gold in the landscape hinted that time was passing. Winter was already advancing across the wastes of Northern Canada and the geese and ducks were flying south. Festing heard in fancy the brant's changing cry that always filled him with unrest, but the letter in his hand was a clearer call. Kerr had offered him a contract for hauling a quantity of telegraph posts and logs across the snow, and his calculations indicated that the work ought to be profitable. It would keep him occupied all winter; one could buy horses cheap when harvest was over and sell them advantageously when plowing began in the spring. Besides, the money he earned would help him to stock his farm and furnish his homestead well.

He had loitered in England long enough. He would never forget this holiday, for he had learned what happiness life might have in store; but it was a happiness that could not be attained by romantic dreams. He must earn it by tense effort, and was willing to pay the price; this was the reason he must get back to work. For all that, he had doubts, and was glad when Muriel came along the terrace and sat down on the bench.

“You look unusually thoughtful,” she said.

“I have something to think about. I find I must go back to Canada very soon.”

Muriel made an abrupt movement. “You are going away! But we thought—” She paused and resumed: “Does Helen know?”

“Not yet; I must tell her. It will cost me something to leave, but I've got to go. Perhaps you had better see what Kerr has to say.”

He gave her the letter, and after waiting until she had read it, went on: “I can't let this chance pass; I want the money.”

“I think I understand,” said Muriel. “Still you haven't told me much.”

He was silent for a few moments and looked very grave, but she had for some time imagined that he was bearing a strain.

“Well,” he said, “I'm up against things and can't see my way. That is, I do see where I mean to go, but don't know if I ought.”

“The problem's not exactly new. However, if you will state it clearly.”

“I'll try,” said Festing. “One can trust you; in fact, I wanted to tell you before.”

He explained his difficulties, practical and moral, and when he finished Muriel said: “It comes to this—You are in love with Helen and mean to marry her, but hesitate because you fear she may find the life too hard.”

“It's a big risk for an English girl. She must give up everything, while I have all to gain.”

“But suppose she were willing?”

“The trouble is that she doesn't know what she may have to bear.”

Muriel smiled. “It's a risk that many girls must run. But after all it depends upon what she values most.”

“Comfort, leisure, refined friends, and other things you enjoy here are worth much to a girl.”

“All this is true,” Muriel agreed, and pausing, continued with a blush: “Still these things don't satisfy every need, and perhaps my example may be some encouragement. Fred isn't very clever and will probably never be rich, but I'd sooner face poverty with him than marry a prince.”

Festing bowed. “Thank you for that! Fred's a very good sort. I knew you had pluck.”

“I really think Helen is pluckier and stronger than me. But I imagine you have already made up your mind.”

“I have; for all that, I'm afraid. If I have bad luck, Helen will have to pay. I know she was willing to marry Charnock, but she was very young then and he was rich compared with me.”

“Then I suppose a little money would be a useful help?”

“It would, in one way,” Festing agreed. “The trouble is that I haven't much; only enough to make a fair start if I'm economical.”

For a moment Muriel looked amused, but her seriousness returned. “We'll let that go. You seem to forget that you don't stand alone. I should have found it hard to forgive Fred if he had decided whether he ought to marry or not, without consulting me. It's a girl's right, not her lover's, to say what she values most and how much she is willing to bear. If Helen loves you, she's entitled to be given the choice.”

“Ah,” said Festing, “I don't know if she loves me yet!”

Muriel's eyes twinkled. “That is something you must find out for yourself. But perhaps I have said enough.”

She went back to the house and Festing sat still in the gathering dark. He had made up his mind and felt encouraged, but he saw difficulties that must be met.

Next day he went to the Scar and found that Helen was not at home, but Mrs. Dalton and her sister received him, and for a time he talked about things that did not matter. It was dull and damp outside, and a bright wood fire burned in the grate. The low-ceilinged room was very warm, its comfort seemed enervating, and he felt braced as he thought of the windswept prairie. Then he knew his remarks were vague and disconnected. It was a relief to plunge into the business he had come about.

“I had better tell you that I am going to ask Helen to marry me,” he said.

Mrs. Dalton did not look surprised, and he thought Miss Graham smiled. Perhaps he had been abrupt, but he did not care.

“You have done what is proper in warning my sister first,” Miss Graham remarked; but Mrs. Dalton was silent for a few moments.

“You imply that Helen doesn't know,” she said.

“She does not; I've been careful not to give her a hint,” Festing declared. “I was afraid to alarm her by, so to speak, rushing things. You're not used to it in England.”

Miss Graham's amusement was plainer. “The caution you exercised must have cost you something.”

“After all, you haven't known Helen long,” Mrs. Dalton resumed.

“That's so, in a way, but five minutes was long enough. I knew I'd never marry anybody else when I saw her in the garden the first day I came.”

He thought Miss Graham gave him an approving look, but he turned to Mrs. Dalton.

“I hope you will give your consent; but, of course, if you object, or there's anything you want to ask——”

Mrs. Dalton roused herself. She felt breathless, as if she had been carried along at an unusual pace.

“To begin with,” she said quietly, “I cannot object to you. We know something about your character; you helped my son, helped him more than you perhaps thought. But there is something I must ask.” She hesitated and then resumed: “You have seen the life Helen leads with us. She has never had to use much self-denial. What have you to offer her in Canada?”

“Not much. In fact, that's partly why I came first to you. I felt you should be warned; that's really what I meant.”

“You are honest,” Miss Graham interposed. “You want my sister's approval, but don't think it essential.”

Festing looked at Mrs. Dalton. “If you refused, I wouldn't be altogether daunted. I might wait, but that is all. This is a matter Helen must decide.”

“Yes. All the same, it is my duty to guard her from a possible mistake.”

“Very well; I'll make matters as plain as I can. To begin with, I haven't much money, and although I'm building a good homestead, a Western farm is very different from the Scar. There's none of the refinement you have round you; a man must work from sunrise until it's dark, and there are many demands upon a woman. For all that, I can guard against Helen suffering actual hardship. In fact, she shall suffer nothing I can save her from. It's the pressure of things one can't control and her own character that may cause the strain. If I know her, she won't stand by and watch when there's much that ought to be done.”

“She would not. But how long do you expect the strain to last?”

“Not very long. Two years, three years; I can't tell. When you break new land you work hard and wait. The railroad throws out branches, elevators are built, small towns spring up, and while you improve your holding comfort and often prosperity comes to you.”

“But in the meantime a little capital would help?”

“Of course,” said Festing. “The trouble is I haven't much, but I think I have enough to provide all that's strictly necessary.”

He thought Mrs. Dalton gave her sister a warning glance, but she said: “Well, you have my consent to ask Helen; but if she is willing to run the risk, there is a stipulation I must make.”

“So long as you consent, I'll agree to anything,” Festing declared. “I can't repay you for your trust, but I'll try to deserve it.”

Mrs. Dalton told him where Helen had gone, and setting off to meet her, he presently saw her come round a bend in a lane. The sun had set and tall oaks, growing along the hedgerows, darkened the lane, but a faint crimson glow from the west shone between the trunks. To the east, the quiet countryside rolled back into deepening shadow. For a moment Festing hesitated as he watched the girl advance. It was rash to uproot this fair bloom of the sheltered English garden and transplant it in virgin soil, swept by the rushing winds. Then he went forward resolutely.

Helen gave him her hand and moved on with disturbed feelings, for there was something different in his look.

“If you don't mind, we'll stop a minute; I have something to say. To begin with, I'm going back to Canada.”

She looked up sharply and then waited with forced calm until he resumed: “That precipitates matters, because I must learn if I've hoped for too much before I go. I was a stranger when I came here, and you were kind—”

“You were not a stranger,” Helen said quietly. “George told us about you, and for his sake—”

“I don't want you to be kind for George's sake, but my own. I'd sooner you liked me for what I am, with all my faults.”

“If it's any comfort, I think I really do like you,” Helen admitted with a strained smile.

“Well enough to marry me?”

Helen colored, but gave him a level glance. “Ah,” she said, “aren't you rash? You hardly know me yet.”

“I'm not rash at all; I knew you long ago. Your portrait hung in Charnock's house and I used to study it on winter nights. It told me what you were, and when I saw you under the copper beech I knew you very well. Still now I have seen you, your picture had lost its charm.”

“Then you have it?” Helen asked.

Festing gave her a Russia leather case and her face flushed red.

“Did Bob give you this?”

“No,” said Festing quietly; “I stole it.”

“And the case?”

“The case was made in Montreal. I went to Winnipeg, but could get nothing good enough.”

Helen turned her head. It was a long way to Winnipeg from the prairie bridge, and she was moved that he had made the journey to find a proper covering for her picture.

“You must have valued the portrait,” she remarked shyly.

“I did, but it won't satisfy me now. As soon as I met you I fell in love with you. Somehow I think you must have seen—”

“Yes,” said Helen quietly, “I did see.”

Festing summoned his self-control. “You must know what you decide. I must live in Canada; my homestead may seem rude and bare after your mother's beautiful house, and I tried to show you what a prairie farm is like.”

“I think I know,” Helen said, and gave him a quick tender look. “Still, such things don't really matter——”

Then Festing stepped forward and took her in his arms.

An hour later he sat talking to Mrs. Dalton and Miss Graham in the drawing-room.

“I am glad you have agreed to wait and come back for Helen in the spring, but I ought to tell you something now, because it may make a difference in your plans,” Mrs. Dalton remarked “You admitted that some of the difficulties you and Helen would have to meet might be avoided if you had a little more capital.”

“It would certainly make a difference, but I have got no more.”

“Helen has some money,” Mrs. Dalton replied.

Festing knitted his brows. “I didn't suspect this!”

“That is obvious,” Miss Graham interposed.

Festing got up, moved a pace or two, and stopped. “How much has she got?”

Mrs. Dalton told him and he frowned. “Then she had better keep it. I'd sooner you tied it up.”

“Isn't that unreasonable?” Miss Graham asked.

“It's a man's business to support his wife. I don't want to live on Helen's money. Besides, I've made my plans.”

“I don't think you quite understand,” Mrs. Dalton rejoined. “After all, it is not a large sum and can be used for Helen's benefit. It may save her from some discomfort and give her advantages you could not provide.”

Festing pondered for a few moments, and then answered thoughtfully: “Yes, I see this, and can't refuse. Well, perhaps the safest way would be to transfer the land I bought to Helen and record it in her name. It's bound to go up in value and couldn't be taken from her unless she borrowed on a mortgage. The arrangement would set free my capital and enable us to run the homestead on more comfortable lines.” Then he paused and asked: “Did Charnock know about the money?”

“He did not,” said Mrs. Dalton. “We thought it better not to tell him; but we can trust you.”

“Thank you,” said Festing, who was silent for a time.

He had wondered whether he had misjudged Charnock in one respect, but saw that he had not. The fellow was a cur and would not have married Sadie if he had known about Helen's money. But this did not matter.

“Well,” he resumed, “if you agree to my proposition, we'll get a lawyer to fix it up. In a way, it's some relief to know Helen has enough, and now I'm going to talk to her.”

He found her in the next room and she gave him a smile. “I expect mother has told you I'm not as poor as you thought. Are you pleased or not?”

“I'm pleased for your sake, because there's not much risk of your finding things too hard, but I'd have been proud to marry you if you had nothing at all.”

“Not even a certain prettiness?” Helen asked.

“Your beauty's something to be thankful for; but after all it's, so to speak, an accident, like your money. It wasn't your beauty, but you, I fell in love with.”

Helen blushed. “Ah!” she said, “now you're very nice indeed!”