“She needed it badly enough,” put in Elsie. “She’s been up three nights running.” “Ah, well, I expect I shall rest to-night,” said Mrs. Dermot, with her tired smile. “Oh, there you are, Arthur! I was just wondering. And Maggie,—where is she?” He had entered from the scullery. He stopped beside her chair. “Maggie? I don’t know where Maggie is. Somewhere about, no doubt. How are you, Mother? Better?” She looked up into his face, and Frances saw the flash of sympathy between them, realized for an instant the closeness of the bond at which till then she had only guessed, and felt as if she had looked upon something sacred. “I am all right, dear,” said Mrs. Dermot. “I have had a most refreshing sleep, thanks to Miss Thorold’s kindness. Your father will be much better when he wakes.” “Sit down, Arthur!” said Nell. “We want to begin.” He glanced round with a quick frown. “Where is everybody? Maggie—Oliver! Why don’t they come in? Go and call them, Elsie!” “I don’t know where they are,” said Elsie. “I’ve milked the cows and fed the horses and locked up. They went to market this morning, and I haven’t seen them since.” “Oh, rot!” he said. “They must have come back long ago. They are probably dawdling round somewhere. Has no one seen them? Nell, haven’t you?” Nell shook her head. “We’ve been busy in the dairy, Lucy and I. Only came in in time to get the supper. What’s it matter? They’ll turn up.” He turned again to Elsie. “You say you locked up. Was the brown cob back?” “I didn’t go that way,” she said, with a touch of defiance. “It was only the cart-horses I saw to. Joe was there too. Oliver always does the cob.” “What does it matter?” Nell said again. “Maggie can have her supper when she comes in. There’s no reason to wait for her.” “It does matter,” he returned sternly. “I won’t have any of you out on the moors after dark, and you know it.” “My good man!” said Nell. “What do you think we’re made of?” He whirled upon her in a sudden tempest of wrath. “Don’t you dare to gainsay me! I mean it. I—will—not—have—you—out—after—dark. Is that plain enough? Damn it! Do you think I’ll be defied to my face?” “My dear!” said Mrs. Dermot very gently. He looked down at her and curbed himself. “I’m sorry, Mother. But a chit like that—not eighteen!” “I am eighteen,” asserted Nell, crimson-cheeked. “And I won’t be kept in order by you. So there!” He turned his eyes upon her, and she shrank in spite of herself. “You will be kept in order by me,” he said. “You will go up to your room now—do you hear?—and stay there for the rest of the night.” “I!” said Nell. “What—now?” She stood gripping the back of the chair in which she had been about to seat herself. Her face had gone from red to white. Her eyes stared straight across the table at her brother. He answered her without moving, but his single word fell like a blow. “Now!”