He liked little Deleah--what young man with eyes in his head did not like her!--she was so pretty; far and away prettier than Bessie, who had in Francis's word tried to grab him. She was the jolliest little thing to laugh with and to dance with; light as a feather--you could sweep her off her feet and dance on with her, never feeling her weight upon your arm. He held out his hand to her now, but she did not see it. Her own hands were clasped. Without clasping them she would not have knelt to ask anything of God. She went across the room and lifted her little white stricken face to Sir Francis above the clasped hands, and gazed at him with an agony of prayer in her eyes. "My papa is in prison," she said. "I have come to ask you to take him out." Sir Francis looked at her in astonishment, not unmoved; at the back of his mind the thought that this was one of a family who had impertinently intruded on him, with whom, emphatically, he wished to have nothing to do. Because this girl was so young and pretty they had sent her! "Will you take my papa out of prison?" "My poor child, I fear that is beyond me. Beyond any one now." She squeezed the clasped hands painfully together, her eyes clung to his face: "No: you can! You can! I heard them say so," she said. "Mr. George Boult and you can take him out if you will. You can do it with money. He said so. You can do it to-day." "She means go bail for him," Reginald explained under his breath. "But why should I do that?" Sir Francis asked, turning upon his brother. "Her father was no friend--not even an acquaintance--of mine." He was most anxious that point should be established. "People in--in Mr. Day's position get their friends to bail them," he said to the girl. "And I shall not be present; I am going out of town to-day." "No! you must not go!" Deleah sobbed. "You must do it. There is no one else. I don't know where to go--I don't know what to do. We none of us know. You must! You must!" Half because her strength was failing her, and half because it was the attitude of prayer, she went to her knees, her head thrown back, looking up at him, her clasped hands beneath her upturned chin. How could any man, however cold, reserved, remote, inimical to her cause, even, turn a deaf ear to such an appeal, remain adamant before her helplessness, her trustfulness, her childish beauty and self-abandonment! "Who sent you to me?" he asked. "No one. I came," she whispered. The change in his tone had weakened her, she began to shake from head to foot. "They should have picked on a fitter person for such an errand. It is a cruelty to have sent such a child as you," he said. He held out his hand to raise her; but Reggie went to her and lifted her and placed her in a comfortable chair. "It'll be all right. He'll do it. Don't you fret," he whispered, soothing her.