Frank's only refuge in these hard times was his mother's love. That never failed him, for the very incapacity that so excited the wrath of his father only drew him more closely to Mrs Darvell, and made her watchful to shield him, if possible, from harsh treatment. She was always ready to do battle for him, and her strong big husband quailed before the small determined mother when she had her boy's cause in hand. For Mrs Darvell was gifted with a range of expression and a freedom of speech which had been denied to her "man," and he had learned to dread the times when the missus was put out, as occasions when he stood defenceless before that deadly weapon--the tongue. He was dreading it now, although he sat so quietly smoking in the chimney-corner. The air had that vaguely uneasy feeling in it that precedes a storm. Presently there would be the first clap of thunder. The clock struck nine. No Frank. An unheard-of hour for any of the Green Highland folk to be out of their beds and awake. Mr Darvell rose, stretched himself, glanced nervously at his wife, and suggested humbly: "Shall us go to bed?" "_You_ may," she replied, "but I don't stir till I see the lad. If so be," she added, "you _can_ go to sleep with an easy mind while the lad's still out, you'd better do it." Her husband scratched his head thoughtfully, but made no answer; then Mrs Darvell rose and stood in front of him, shaking a menacing finger. "Frank Darvell," she said slowly and solemnly, "you've bin leatherin' that lad. Don't deny it, for I know it." Mr Darvell did not attempt to deny it. He only shuffled his feet a little. "An now," continued his wife with increasing vehemence, "you've druv him at last to run away; don't deny it." "He ain't run away," muttered Mr Darvell. "He ain't got pluck enough to do that. He's a coward, that's what he is." "Coward!" cried his wife, now fairly roused, and standing in an aggressive attitude. "It's you that are the coward, you great, hulking, stupid lout, to strike a weak boy half yer size. An' to talk of goin' to bed, an' him wandering out there in the woods. My poor little gentle lad!" She sank down on the settle and wrung her hands helplessly, but started up again the next minute with a sudden energy which seemed to petrify her husband. "Put on your boots," she said, pointing to them; and as Mr Darvell meekly obeyed she went on speaking quietly and rapidly. "Wake up Jack Gunn and send him down to Danecross. Tell him to ask at the rectory and at schoolmaster's if they've seen the lad. Take your lantern and go into the woods. There's gypsies camping out Hampden way; go there, and tell 'em to look out for him. Don't you dare to come back without the lad. I'll stop here, and burn a light and keep his supper ready. Poor little lad, he'll be starved with hunger!"