Before David's reappearance he had succeeded in controlling his gasping breath, though the hand with which he helped himself shook very perceptibly. There were two cups on the tray. David lingered. "You can go," said Sir Beverley. David cocked one eyebrow in deferential enquiry. "Master Piers in the garden, sir?" he ventured. "Shall I find him?" "No!" snapped Sir Beverley. "Very good, sir." David turned regretfully to the door. "Shall I keep the coffee hot, Sir Beverley?" he asked, as he reached it, with what was almost a pleading note in his voice. Sir Beverley's frown became as menacing as a thunder-cloud. "No!" he shouted. David nodded in melancholy submission and withdrew. Sir Beverley sat down heavily in his chair and slowly drank his coffee. Finally he put aside the empty cup and sat staring at the closed door, his brows drawn heavily together. How had the young beggar dared to defy him so? He must have been getting out of hand for some time by imperceptible degrees. He had always vowed to himself that he would not spoil the boy. Had that resolution of his become gradually relaxed? His frown grew heavier. He had never before contemplated the possibility that Piers might some day become an individual force utterly beyond his control. His eye fell upon a fragment of the broken ruler lying under the table and again grimly he smiled. "Confound the scamp! He's got some muscle," he murmured. Again his look went to the door. Why didn't the young fool come back and apologize? How much longer did he mean to keep him waiting? The minutes dragged away, and the silence of emptiness gathered and brooded in the great room and about the master of the house who sat within it, with bent head, waiting. It was close upon ten o'clock when at length he rose and irritably rang the bell. "See if you can find Master Piers!" he said to David. "He can't be far away. Look in the drawing-room! Look in the garden! Tell him I want him!" David withdrew upon the errand, and again the oppressive silence drew close. For a long interval Sir Beverley sat quite motionless, still staring at the door as though he expected Piers to enter at any moment. But when at length it opened, it was only to admit David once more. "I'm sorry to say I can't find Master Piers anywhere in the house or garden, Sir Beverley," he said, looking straight before him and blinking vacantly at the lamp. "I'm inclined to believe, sir, that he must have gone into the park." Sir Beverley snarled inarticulately and dismissed him. During the hour that followed, he did not move from his chair, and scarcely changed his position. But at last, as the stable-clock was tolling eleven, he rose stiffly and walked to the window. It was fastened; he dragged at the catch with impatient fingers. His face was haggard and grey as he finally thrust up the sash, and leaned out with his hands on the sill.