The Shadow of the Past

It was his general manner, however, that affected her chiefly. How tall and strong he was, and the wonderful sunburn on his clean-cut face and massive arms! Then he had such an air of reserve. No, it was not easy.

Finally, she decided to temporize, and wait for an opening. And in that she knew in her heart she was yielding to weakness.

"My housekeeper tells me it was you who handed the farm over to her?" she said interrogatively.

The man's eyes began to twinkle again.

"Was that your--housekeeper?" he inquired.

"Yes--Mrs. Ransford."

Joan felt even less at her ease confronted by those twinkling eyes.

"She's a--bright woman."

The man casually picked up a straw and began to chew it.

Joan saw that he was smiling broadly, and resented it. So she threw all the dignity she could summon into her next question.

"Then you must be Mr. Moreton Kenyon!" she said.

The man shook his head.

"Wrong. That's the 'Padre,'" he announced curtly.

Joan forgot her resentment in her surprise.

"The 'Padre'! Why, I thought Mr. Kenyon was a farmer!"

The man nodded.

"So he is. You see folks call him Padre because he's a real good feller," he explained. Then he added: "He's got white hair, too. A whole heap of it. That sort o' clinched it."

The dark eyes had become quite serious again. There was even a tender light in them as he searched the girl's fair face. He was wondering what was yet to come. He was wondering how this interview was to bear on the future. In spite of his easy manner he dreaded lest the threats of Mrs. Ransford were about to be put into execution.