turned to Gerald, a smile on his colourless face:

"It will be all right, my boy. You are not to worry--do you understand
me? Go to bed, now; you need the sleep. Go to bed, I tell you--I'll
stand by you. You must begin all over again, Gerald--and so must I; and
so must I."

CHAPTER X

LEX NON SCRIPTA

Selwyn had gone to New York with Gerald, "for a few days," as he
expressed it; but it was now the first week in October, and he had not
yet returned to Silverside.

A brief note to Nina thanking her for having had him at Silverside, and
speaking vaguely of some business matters which might detain him
indefinitely--a briefer note to Eileen regretting his inability to
return for the present--were all the communication they had from him
except news brought by Austin, who came down from town every Friday.

A long letter to him from Nina still remained unanswered; Austin had
seen him only once in town; Lansing, now back in New York, wrote a
postscript in a letter to Drina, asking for Selwyn's new address--the
first intimation anybody had that he had given up his lodgings on
Lexington Avenue.

"I was perfectly astonished to find he had gone, leaving no address,"
wrote Boots; "and nobody knows anything about him at his clubs. I have
an idea that he may have gone to Washington to see about the Chaosite
affair; but if you have any address except his clubs, please send it to
me."

Eileen had not written him; his sudden leave-taking nearly a month ago
had so astounded her that she could not believe he meant to be gone
more than a day or two. Then came his note, written at the Patroons'
Club--very brief, curiously stilted and formal, with a strange tone of
finality through it, as though he were taking perfunctory leave of
people who had come temporarily into his life, and as though the chances
were agreeably even of his ever seeing them again.

The girl was not hurt, as yet; she remained merely confused,
incredulous, unreconciled. That there was to be some further explanation
of his silence she never dreamed of doubting; and there seemed to be
nothing to do in the interval but await it. As for writing him, some
instinct forbade it, even when Nina suggested that she write, adding
laughingly that nothing else seemed likely to stir her brother.

For the first few days the children clamoured intermittently for him;
but children forget, and Billy continued to cast out his pack in undying
hope of a fox or bunny, and th