Late in the afternoon Maggie came in, her plump, rosy face drawn and sad. She came and hung over the bed for a space in silence. Ruth was lying as she had lain throughout, with her eyes fixed upwards, as though waiting for a sign, and still they burned with that fire of inner sight which to Frances had been somehow terrible. Maggie straightened herself at last with a deep sigh. She looked across at Frances with the glimmer of a welcoming smile, but she did not speak. Softly she crept away. The next to come was the white-haired mother, and to her Ruth spoke the moment she entered the room though her entrance made no sound. “My dear Granny!” she said. Frances rose quickly and proffered her chair; but Mrs. Dermot shook her head. “No, no! I have only come for a moment.” She bent over the child. “Are you happier now, my baby? Can you go to sleep?” “Yes, I am quite happy,” said little Ruth, “now that Miss Thorold is here. But I can’t go to sleep till I get the message for her. I might die, dear Granny, and I shouldn’t be able to give it her then. We can only send our love—after we are dead.” “But Miss Thorold can’t stay here all the time, darling,” said Mrs. Dermot, with a tender touch upon the child’s brow. “She will get so tired sitting here. She has been ill, you know. She will want to rest.” “Someone will call her when the message comes,” said Ruth. “I know she won’t mind. She is always so good. Will you go and rest, please, Miss Thorold? It won’t come yet.” “Please do!” said Mrs. Dermot. “My son asks me to say that he hopes you will regard Tetherstones as your home for as long as you care to stay in it. I think I need not speak for myself, or tell you how grateful we all are to you for coming back to set our little one’s mind at rest.” There was infinite pathos to Frances in the quiet utterance. Mrs. Dermot was looking at her with eyes that seemed too tired for tears. “How she has suffered!” was the thought that passed through Frances’ mind, as she met them. “You are much more than kind—as you always have been,” she said very earnestly, as she rose to go. “Please remember that I am here to help, if there is anything whatever that I can do! Don’t hesitate—ever—to make use of me!” “Thank you,” said Mrs. Dermot. “I should like you to rest now. Your room is quite ready for you. Perhaps—perhaps—in the night we may need you.” Frances knew what she meant. She stooped to kiss little Ruth and turned to go. “I shall be ready at any time,” she said. In the doorway she encountered Dolly entering with a cup of milk in her hand. Dolly stopped. “Are you going downstairs for some tea? That’s right. It’s in the kitchen. Maggie is there. She will look after you. We are so glad you have come back.” She passed on into the room, and Frances went out alone. The old house was full of shadows. She could hear the shrill cries of swallows wheeling about the eaves. The scent of honeysuckle was everywhere. How had she ever thought of it as a prison?