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Her father rose. He was not looking at her—but away, beyond the bowed windows, though the shades of these were drawn, the hangings were in place. And, “No!” he said hoarsely; “not yet! I’m not through fighting them yet!“

“Daddy!” Fear for him wrung the cry from her.

His eyes fell to her upturned face. And as if he saw the terror there, he knelt, suddenly all concern. “Who told you about the bears, Gwendolyn?”—with a note of displeasure.

“Miss Royle.”

“That was wrong—she shouldn’t have done it. There are things a little girl can’t understand.” His eyes were on a level with her brimming ones.

The next moment—”Gwendolyn! Gwendolyn! 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.

Gwendolyn, watching out from under the arm that rested across her forehead, realized how her last night’s breach of authority had impressed each one of them. And secretly rejoicing at her triumph, she kept up a brisk tattoo.

Miss Royle ignored her. “I’ll take a little more chocolate, Thomas,” she said, with a fair semblance of calm. But cup and saucer rattled in her hand.

Thomas, too, feigned indifference to the rat! tat! tat! of heels. He bent above the table attentively. And to Gwendolyn was wafted down a sweet aroma.

“Thank you,” said Miss Royle. “And cake, too? Splendid! How did you manage it?” A knife-edge cut against china. She helped herself generously.

Gwendolyn fell silent to listen.

“Well, I haven’t Mr. Potter to thank,” said Thomas, warmly; “only my own forethoughtedness, as you might say. The first time I ever set eyes on it I seen it was the kind that’d keep, so—”

From under the shielding arm Gwendolyn blinked with indignation. Her birthday cake!

“Say, Miss Royle,” chuckled Thomas, replenishing the chocolate cup, “that was a’ awful whack you give Miss J—last night.”

At once Gwendolyn forgot the wrong put upon her in the matter of the cake—in astonishment at this new turn of affairs. Evidently Miss Royle and Thomas were leagued against Jane!