tand." His eyes were on a level with her brimming ones.

The next moment--"Gwendolyn! _Gwen_dolyn! Oh, where's that child!" The
voice was Jane's. She was pounding her way down the stairs.

Before Gwendolyn could put a finger to his lips to plead for silence,
"Here, Jane," he called, and stood up once more.

Jane came in, puffing with her haste. "Oh, thank you, sir," she cried.
"It give me _such_ a turn, her stealin' off like that! Madam doesn't
like her to be up late, as she well knows. And I'll be blamed for this,
sir, though I take pains to follow out Madam's orders exact," She seized
Gwendolyn.

Gwendolyn, eyes dry now, and defiant, pulled back with all the strength
of her slender arm. "Oh, fath-er!" she plead. "Oh, _please_, I don't
want to go!"

"Why! Why! Why!" It was reproval; but tender reproval, mixed with mild
amazement.

"Oh, I want to tell you something," cried Gwendolyn. "Let me stay just a
_minute_."

"That's just the way she acts, sir, whenever it's bed-time," mourned
Jane.

He leaned to lift Gwendolyn's chin gently. "Father thinks she'd better
go now," he said quietly. "And she's not to worry her blessed baby head
any more." Then he kissed her.

The kiss, the knowledge that strife was futile, the sadness of
parting--these brought the great sobs. She went without resisting, but
stumbling a little; the back of one hand was laid against her streaming
eyes.

Half a flight up the stairs, Jane turned her right about at a bend. Then
she dropped the hand to look over the banisters. And through a blur of
tears saw her father watching after her, his shoulders against the
library door.

He threw a kiss.

Then another bend of the staircase hid his upturned face.

CHAPTER VI

Gwendolyn was lying on her back in the middle of the nursery floor. The
skein of her flaxen hair streamed about her shoulders in tangles. Her
head being unpillowed, her face was pink--and pink, too, with wrath. Her
blue-and-white frock was crumpled. She was kicking the rug with both
heels.

It was noon. And Miss Royle was having her dinner. Her face, usually so
pale, was dark with anger--held well in check. Her expression was that
of one who had recently suffered a scare, and her faded eyes shifted
here and there uneasily. Thomas, too, looked apprehensive as he moved
between table and tray. Jane was just gone, showing, as she
disappeared, lips nervously pursed, and a red, roving glance that
betokened worry.

Gwend