"Mardy, I shall not fail," cried Rob. "Do you not remember that Patergrey said: 'It must not be less than fifty thousand dollars to be accepted?' That was the last time he spoke of it, you know. He understood its value. I don't like to bother you, but you see it's chiefly for your sake, and, besides, I worked with Patergrey all the time and I feel as though I could not desert the dear invention now, if I wanted to--let it be stolen from us, the work of all that dear life, and its only legacy to us, except the little grey house, with its mortgage. You must say yes, Mardy, my darling; I was Patergrey's 'son Rob,' you know, and I must defend his invention, and be the man of the family, his son Rob still." Rob's beautiful head dropped on her mother's knee, and the steady, clear, young voice broke pitifully. Mrs. Grey leaned over and laid her wet cheek on Rob's bright rings of hair, with the red shining through them in the firelight. "Go, then, my Robert of the lion-heart, go, you dear knight-errant, and have your way. And whatever comes of it we shall never regret it, for we shall remember that you loyally played your part in defence of us all--all, here and beyond," whispered Rob's mother. CHAPTER FOURTEEN ITS BRAVE DAUGHTER There was but one really fast train between Fayre and New York, and that left Fayre at quarter to eight in the morning. Not too early, however, for Rob, acting rapidly on her hardly won permission to go to the rescue of her family, to be ready to take her place among its passengers. There had been wild excitement in the little grey house on the previous night, after that permission had been won, getting together Rob's few requirements for her unwonted journey, and discussing in all its aspects the great feat she was to perform. But now her pretty face, pale under the black hat surmounting the wayward hair, and big-eyed from sorrow and excitement, looked with brave smiles out of the car-window at Wythie and Prue and the Rutherford boys on the platform as they waved Rob on her way, and the train started. Rob had never felt more childish and dependent in her life than now, when, for the first time, she was acting like a woman, and going down to the great city to try to arrange a most important business matter. When Fayre station was left behind, and Wythie and Prue could no longer see her, Rob allowed herself a good cry--the world seemed so big and hollow, and she felt so little and helpless! But in half an hour she was drying her eyes, and beginning to lay her plans, and to wonder, with quickened heart-beats, which were rather stimulating than depressing, how she was to find Mr. Baldwin, or even Broadway, since she did not know one street from another in the maelstrom that is the second city of the world.