"Listen, father. I haven't said all I mean to say. I will not give the girls absolute liberty at the expense of deserting their mother. I refuse to do so; I have told them that I will look after my stepmother for half of every day, sometimes in the morning, and sometimes in the afternoon; but I will not do more, so Molly or Ethel or Nesta, who is no baby, must share the looking after her with me. You can take this proposal of mine, girls, or leave it. If you take it, well and good; if you leave it I return to Frankfort to-morrow." Had a bombshell burst in the midst of that eager, animated group, it could not have caused greater consternation. Marcia, the eldest sister, who had always been somewhat downtrodden, who had always worked very, very hard, who always spared others and toiled herself, had suddenly turned round and dared them to take all her liberty from her. But even as she spoke her heart sank. It was one thing to resolve and to tell her family so; but quite another thing to get that family to carry out her wishes. Nesta flung herself into her father's arms and sobbed. Molly and Ethel frowned, and tears rolled down Ethel's cheeks. But Horace went up to Marcia, and put his hand on her shoulder. "I do think you are right," he said. "It is fair enough. The only thing is that you must train them a bit, Marcia, just a bit, for they have not your orderly or sweet and gracious ways." "Then you take her part, do you?" cried the younger sisters in tones of different degrees of emotion. "Yes, I do, and, father, you ought to." "It doesn't matter," said Marcia, who somehow seemed not even to feel Horace's approval of much moment just then. "I do what I said; I stay here for a month if you accede to my proposal. At the end of a month, if you have broken my wishes, and not taken your proper share of the nursing of your mother, I go back to Frankfort. Mrs Silchester has promised to keep my situation open for me for that time. Now I think you understand." Marcia went out of the room: she had obtained at least a moral victory, but how battered, how tired, how worn out she felt. CHAPTER THREE. TAKING MOTHER. "Now, my dear," said Mrs Aldworth, when Marcia entered her room, "I really expect to have some comfort. You have such a nice understanding way, Marcia. Oh, my dear, don't let so much light into the room. How stupid. Do you see how that ray of sunlight will creep up my bed in a few moments and fall on my face. I assure you, Marcia, my nerves are so sensitive that if the sun were even to touch my cheek for an instant, I should have a sort of sunstroke. I endured agonies from Nesta's carelessness in that way a few days ago." "Well, it will be all right now, mother," said Marcia in a cheerful tone. She was brave enough; she would take up her burden, what burden she thought it right to carry, with all the strength of her sweet, gracious womanhood.