It was a crucial test of faith, and the man knew it, as the woman did.  He stood alone, with the opinions of the multitude against him, but there was, Maud Barrington felt, a great if undefinable difference between his quiet resolution and the gambler’s recklessness.  Once more the boldness of his venture stirred her, and this time there was a little flash in her eyes as she bore witness to her perfect confidence.

“You shall have the land, every acre of it, to do what you like with, and I will ask no questions whether you win or lose,” she said.

Then Miss Barrington glanced at him in turn.  “Lance, I have a thousand dollars I want you to turn into wheat for me.”

Winston’s fingers trembled, and a darker hue crept into his tan.  “Madam,” he said, “I can take no money from you.”

“You must,” said the little, white-haired lady.  “For your mother’s sake, Lance.  It is a brave thing you are doing, and you are the son of one who was my dearest friend.”

Winston turned his head away, and both women wondered when he looked round again.  His face seemed a trifle drawn, and his voice was strained.

“I hope,” he said slowly, “it will in some degree make amends for others I have done.  In the meanwhile, there are reasons why your confidence humiliates me.”

Miss Barrington rose and her niece after her.  “Still, I believe it is warranted, and you will remember there are two women who have trusted you, hoping for your success.  And now, I fancy we have kept you too long.”

Winston stood holding the door open a moment, with his head bent, and then suddenly straightened himself.

“I can at least be honest with you in this venture,” he said with a curious quietness.

Nothing further was said, but when his guests drove away Winston sat still a while and then went back very grim in face to his plowing.  He had passed other unpleasant moments of that kind since he came to Silverdale, and long afterwards the memory of them brought a flush to his face.  The excuses he had made seemed worthless when he strove to view what he had done, and was doing, through those women’s eyes.

It was dusk when he returned to the homestead, worn, out in body but more tranquil in mind, and stopped a moment in the doorway to look back on the darkening sweep of the plowing.  He felt with no misgivings that his time of triumph would come, and in the meanwhile the handling of this great farm with all the aids that money could buy him was a keen joy to him; but each time he met Maud Barrington’s eyes he realized the more surely that the hour of his success must also see accomplished an act of abnegation, which he wondered with a growing fear whether he could find the strength for.  Then as he went in a man who cooked for his hired assistants came to meet him.

“There’s a stranger inside waiting for you,” he said.  “Wouldn’t tell me what he wanted, but sat right down as if the place was his, and helped himself without asking to your cigars.  Wanted something to drink, too, and smiled at me kind of wicked when I brought him the cider.”