Harding of Allenwood

"I'm afraid I have done nothing to warrant this great kindness," he said awkwardly. "Am I to understand that you offer it to me without conditions, asking nothing in return?"

"No; not altogether. I guess I might choose a better time, but I feel that you should know what I want. I'm going to ask a favor. I suppose you no longer think of compelling Miss Mowbray to marry Brand?"

"You can take it that I do not. But what is this to you?"

"Well," Harding said with a slight unsteadiness in his voice, "I want to ask you if you will give her to me?"

Mowbray straightened himself in his chair.

"So you, too, mean to make terms, when you know I cannot refuse!"

"No," Harding answered shortly, "I make none. If you had insisted on Miss Mowbray's marrying Brand, I might have had something to say. All I ask is that you give her a free choice; if she uses it to take somebody else, I won't complain."

"That is remarkably generous," Mowbray conceded.

"We'll let that go. Perhaps my request is something of a shock, but I want you to hear me out. If things go well with me this year, I can give my wife every comfort you have at Allenwood, and she can lead the life she likes best – except that I can't leave the prairie. Then there is nothing that need separate your daughter from you. Many of her friends are mine; they'll welcome me into the settlement. I did not go to them; they came to me."

Mowbray knew this was true. His own younger son firmly believed in Harding. Kenwyne, who had fastidious tastes, was his friend. There were others Mowbray could think of, and all were men of character and standing.

"May I ask how long you have entertained these views about my daughter?"

"Since the first time I saw her, and that was very soon after I came to this neighborhood. I knew as soon as she spoke to me that I would never marry any one else."

Mowbray studied him. He had not suspected Harding of romantic tendencies, but the man was obviously serious.

"Has she any reason to suspect your feelings?" he asked.

"The best of reasons; I have told her on more than one occasion. Still, I can't claim that she approves of me."

Had Harding made his proposal earlier, it would not have been entertained for a moment, but Mowbray had suffered during the last few days. He had found that it cost him more than he had expected to disregard his daughter's inclinations, and he shrank from doing so again. Then he owed much to Harding, who had behaved with somewhat surprising good taste. After all, if Beatrice were fond of him – Mowbray stopped here, feeling that the matter must be settled at once. He determined to confront the girl with Harding and learn the truth.

"I hope to give you an answer in a few minutes," he said, and left the room.

Somewhat to his surprise, Mrs. Mowbray agreed to his plan, and when he went back to his study he and Harding waited until Beatrice entered. She was highly strung but calm, though a trace of color crept into her face as she glanced at Harding.

"Gerald is safe," Mowbray told her. "Mr. Harding, who has acted very generously, has ensured that. Now he asks that I should allow you to marry him."

Beatrice look startled; her face grew dead-white and her expression strained.

"After what he has learned about us he is very rash. But this is not generosity!"

Mowbray stopped Harding, who would have spoken.

"I see that I did not make his meaning clear. He merely asks that I withdraw my objections, and not that I try to influence your decision. I am willing to do the former, but you must make your choice."

Beatrice gave Harding a swift, grateful look.

"I am sorry I misunderstood. I should have known you better," she said in a very low voice.

Then she was silent for a moment, with downcast eyes, and the two men waited tensely. When she looked up her eyes glistened with tears; but behind the tears there shone a great happiness.

"It is not hard to decide," she murmured, reaching her hand out timidly toward Harding.

He grasped it eagerly, and Mowbray forced himself to smile. In spite of the Colonel's prejudices, he felt that his daughter's quiet confidence in the prairie man was justified.

"I sincerely wish you well," he said. He laid one hand on Harding's arm, and there was a tremor in his voice as he continued: "We have not agreed on many points, but I have learned that you can be trusted. I am glad to remember it now."

"Thank you, sir," said Harding. "I know the value of what you have given me."

After a few more words Mowbray let them go, and when they sat together on the large black settle in a corner of the hall, the girl was conscious of a calm tenderness for her lover that was stronger than anything she had yet felt.

"Craig," she said softly, "I wasn't brave enough when you first urged me, but the hesitation I then felt has gone, and I am ashamed of it. I know that I am safe with you."

"Thank you for that," he answered and his face grew compassionate. "But you look very tired and distressed."

"I am tired – but I'm happy." A faint flush tinted her cheeks and she smiled shyly. "The last few days have been very trying, Craig; and when there seemed to be no way out, then I knew that I wanted you. Now I am still half dazed; my escape seems so wonderful!"

"I know," Harding said gently. "I was sorry for you all. It must have been hard for your father, but one can see his point of view. You must forget about it, dear. I am starting for Winnipeg to-morrow, and may be there a week. You will have time to get used to things before I come back."

"You are very considerate, and even kinder than I thought."

He smiled into her eyes.

"I am going to leave you now, because I feel that I ought to. But you know I want to stay!"

He lifted the hand she gave him and kissed it tenderly. Then a swift flood surged through him.

"Beatrice!" he breathed. "Oh, Beatrice! You don't know what it means to me!"

The little fingers were nearly crushed in his strong grasp; but he released them quickly and turned away.

"Good-by, dear!" he said.

Beatrice let him go, but her look was strangely tender and her heart beat fast. He had shown a fine unselfishness, and a tact that was perhaps remarkable. She had no hesitation about him now.

CHAPTER XXV

THE REBUFF

Harding spent a busy week in Winnipeg, carrying out a scheme he had agreed upon with Broadwood, Kenwyne, and one or two others, though he feared it would again bring him into conflict with Colonel Mowbray. He regretted this, but he could not allow it to influence him. Allenwood, in which he now had a strong interest, must not be allowed to suffer because of the Colonel's old-fashioned opinions. Harding saw what ought to be done; and he felt that to leave it undone, in order to save himself trouble, would be weak and, in a sense, treacherous to those who now looked to him for a lead. He could not act against his convictions; he must do what he thought best, and take the consequences.

The storekeepers and implement dealers in the small settlements had many bad debts, and their charges were proportionately high, but Harding did not see why he and his friends should pay for the defaulters. Expensive machines were needed; and new wheat was being produced which would resist drought and ripen soon enough to escape the autumn frost; but local dealers were unable, or perhaps too careless, to obtain the seed. Then, Harding saw that a time was coming when mixed farming produce, which he called truck, would be in strong demand; and it was his custom to anticipate a need. Kenwyne and the others recognized the desirability of this, and had agreed to open a joint agency in Winnipeg. Harding was not sure that the expense could be recouped for a time, but he believed the undertaking would pay in the end.

After finding a suitable office, he called on a number of business men and the flour-millers who were then beginning what was to become the leading industry of the city. He wanted to learn their views about the kind of wheat best suited to their use, and to enter into direct relations with them. On the whole, he succeeded better than he had hoped, and had now only to appoint an agent. Two or three suitable men had offered their services, and it was difficult to decide.

He was thinking over the matter in the newly opened office, when Gerald came in. The Mowbray black sheep seemed to feel no embarrassment in meeting him, for his manner was inclined to be patronizing. Sitting down, he lighted a cigarette.

"This is a new venture. I don't know that it will meet with general approval at Allenwood," he remarked.