There was an impressive silence in Hetty's little drawing-room at Cedar
Range when Cheyne, who had ridden there the day after he left Fremont,
told his story. He had expected attention, but the effect his narrative
produced astonished him. Hetty had softly pushed her chair back into the
shadow where the light of the shaded lamp did not fall upon her, but her
stillness was significant. He could, however, see Miss Schuyler, and
wondered what accounted for the impassiveness of her face, now the colour
that had flushed her cheek had faded. The silence was becoming
embarrassing when Miss Schuyler broke it.
"Mr. Grant is recovering?" she asked.
"Yes," said Cheyne. "He was coming round when I left him. The blow might
have been a dangerous one; but I had a suspicion he had more than that to
contend with."
"Yes?" said Hetty, a little breathlessly.
"Of course, his affairs were not my business," Cheyne went on, "but it
seemed to me the man had been living under a heavy strain; and though we
were strangers, I could not help feeling a sympathy that almost amounted
to a liking for him. He must have found it trying when the men he had done
his best for came round to burn his place; but I understand he went out to
speak to them with empty hands when they struck him down."
"What made them attack him?" asked Miss Schuyler.
"I'm not quite sure, but I have an idea they were displeased because he
did not countenance their attempt to wreck the cattle-train. Then, I
believe he held some dollars in trust for them, and, as they presumably
wanted them for some fresh outrage, would not give them up. Mr. Grant is
evidently a man with a sense of responsibility."
Hetty looked up suddenly. "Yes," she said. "He would have let them tear
him to pieces before he gave them one."
Cheyne noticed the faint ring in her voice, and fancied it would have been
plainer had she not laid a restraint upon herself. A vague suspicion he
had brushed away once more crept into his mind.
"Well," he said, slowly, watching Hetty the while, "I fancy the efforts he
made to save your friends' stock will cost him a good deal. The point is
that a man of his abilities must have recognized it at the time."
Hetty met his glance, and Cheyne saw the little glow in her eyes. "Do you
think that would have counted for anything with such a man?"
Cheyne made a little gesture of negation that in a curious fashion became
him. "No. That is, I do not believe he would have let it influence him."
"That," said Miss Schuyler, "is a very comprehensive admission."
Cheyne smiled. "I don't know that I could desire a higher tribute paid to
me. Might one compliment you both on your evident desire to be fair to
your enemies?"
He saw the faint flush in Hetty's face, and was waiting with a curious
expectancy for her answer, when Torrance came in. He appeared grimly
pleased at something as he signed to Cheyne.
"His friends have burned the rascal out," he said. "Well, I don't know
that we could have hoped for anything better; but I want to hear what you
can tell me about it. You will have to spare me Captain Cheyne for a
little, Hetty."
Cheyne rose and went away with him, while, when the door closed behind
them, Hetty--who had seen the vindictive satisfaction in her father's
face--turned to her companion with a flash of imperious anger in her
eyes.
"Flo," she said, "how can he? It's wicked of him."