“So far as to leave my place, and I was not anxious to keep him,” said Winston, with a little laugh.  “I am sorry he disturbed you.”

Maud Barrington seemed thoughtful.  “I scarcely think the man was to blame.”

“No?” said Winston.

The girl looked at him curiously, and shook her head.  “No,” she said.  “I heard my uncle’s explanation, but it was not convincing.  I saw the man’s face.”

It was several seconds before Winston answered, and then he took the bold course.

“Well?” he said.

Maud Barrington made a curious little gesture.  “I knew I had seen it before at the bridge, but that was not all.  It was vaguely familiar, and I felt I ought to know it.  It reminded me of somebody.”

“Of me?” and Winston laughed.

“No.  There was a resemblance, but it was very superficial.  That man’s face had little in common with yours.”

“These faint likenesses are not unusual,” said Winston, and once more Maud Barrington looked at him steadily.

“No,” she said, “of course not.  Well, we will conclude that my fancies ran away with me, and be practical.  What is wheat doing just now?”

“Rising still,” said Winston, and regretted the alacrity with which he had seized the opportunity of changing the topic when he saw that it had not escaped the notice of his companion.  “You and I and a few others will be rich this year.”

“Yes, but I am afraid some of the rest will find it has only further anxieties for them.”

“I fancy,” said Winston, “you are thinking of one.”

Maud Barrington nodded.  “Yes.  I am sorry for him.”

“Then it would please you if I tried to straighten out things for him?  It would be difficult, but I believe it could be accomplished.”

Maud Barrington’s eyes were grateful, but there was something that Winston could not fathom behind her smile.

“If you undertook it.  One could almost believe you had the wonderful lamp,” she said.

Winston smiled somewhat dryly.  “Then all its virtues will be tested to-night, and I had better make a commencement while I have the courage.  Colonel Barrington is in?”

Maud Barrington went with him to the door, and then laid her hand a moment on his arm.  “Lance,” she said, with a little tremor in her voice, “if there was a time when our distrust hurt you, it has recoiled upon our heads.  You have returned it with a splendid generosity.”

Winston could not trust himself to answer, but walked straight to Barrington’s room, and finding the door open, went quietly in.  The head of the Silverdale settlement was sitting at a littered table in front of a shaded lamp, and the light that fell upon it showed the care in his face.  It grew a trifle grimmer when he saw the younger man.

“Will you sit down?” he said.  “I have been looking for a visit from you for some little time.  It would have been more fitting had you made it earlier.”