They had all risen now. The boy's face gave them—even John, even Stanley—a choke in the throat. Frances Freeland suddenly took their arms and went to the door; her other two sons followed. And quietly they all went out. Derek, who had stayed perfectly still, staring past Nedda into a corner of the room, said: “Ask him what he wants, Mother.” Nedda smothered down a cry. But Kirsteen, tightening her clasp of him and looking steadily into that corner, answered: “Nothing, my boy. He's quite friendly. He only wants to be with you for a little.” “But I can't do anything for him.” “He knows that.” “I wish he wouldn't, Mother. I can't be more sorry than I have been.” Kirsteen's face quivered. “My dear, it will go quite soon. Love Nedda! See! She wants you!” Derek answered in the same quiet voice: “Yes, Nedda is the comfort. Mother, I want to go away—away out of England—right away.” Nedda rushed and flung her arms round him. “I, too, Derek; I, too!” That evening Felix came out to the old 'fly,' waiting to take him from Joyfields to Becket. What a sky! All over its pale blue a far-up wind had drifted long, rosy clouds, and through one of them the half-moon peered, of a cheese-green hue; and, framed and barred by the elm-trees, like some roseate, stained-glass window, the sunset blazed. In a corner of the orchard a little bonfire had been lighted, and round it he could see the three small Trysts dropping armfuls of leaves and pointing at the flames leaping out of the smoulder. There, too, was Tod's big figure, motionless, and his dog sitting on its haunches, with head poked forward, staring at those red tongues of flame. Kirsteen had come with him to the wicket gate. He held her hand long in his own and pressed it hard. And while that blue figure, turned to the sunset, was still visible, he screwed himself back to look. They had been in painful conclave, as it seemed to Felix, all day, coming to the decision that those two young things should have their wish, marry, and go out to New Zealand. The ranch of Cousin Alick Morton (son of that brother of Frances Freeland, who, absorbed in horses, had wandered to Australia and died in falling from them) had extended a welcome to Derek. Those two would have a voyage of happiness—see together the red sunsets in the Mediterranean, Pompeii, and the dark ants of men swarming in endless band up and down with their coal-sacks at Port Said; smell the cinnamon gardens of Colombo; sit up on deck at night and watch the stars.... Who could grudge it them? Out there youth and energy would run unchecked. For here youth had been beaten!