A sudden sense of chill touched her. The moon vanished behind a cloud, and a little cold breeze sprang up and played on her bare neck and arms. The garden showed dark with the white light withdrawn, dark and deserted. A shadowed loneliness had fallen on the spirit of the night. CHAPTER FOUR. "I want," Prudence said in her soft appealing voice, "the sum of fifty pounds." Mr Graynor looked not unnaturally amazed. Prudence's wants had never assumed such extravagant proportions before: it puzzled him to understand what she could possibly require to necessitate the demand for so large a sum, and, because he had only a few hours earlier refused to listen to another outrageous request of hers and told her a little harshly that there were matters with which she should not concern herself, he hoped, despite a general reluctance to part with money, that this further demand was one he could treat more generously. He put a large shaky hand on her curls and tilted her head back and smiled into the wide blue eyes. "Fifty pounds, eh?" he said. "That's a big sum, Prue." "You'll let me have it?" she asked, and clasped her hands round his arm. "That depends," he answered, "on what you want it for." "I'd rather not tell that," she said slowly. Mr Graynor removed his hand. Secrecy savoured of a want of candour; he could not allow that. "I can't give you a cheque without knowing what you purpose spending the money on," he said firmly. "It's a big sum for a little girl--even for finery. You mustn't develop extravagance." Prudence braced herself and faced him a little defiantly. "It's not for me," she said. "I don't need anything. But you are sending the Clapps away, and they've nowhere to go and no money. That isn't just; it's--wicked." His face hardened while he listened to this sweeping indictment, and he turned away from her with an air of sharp annoyance. "You are extremely foolish, Prudence," he said. "Leave these matters which you are not able to understand to your elders. I forbid you to mention this subject again." Prudence was defeated but not subdued. She accepted the defeat, but she had her retort ready. "Very well," she said, as she moved towards the door. "Then I'll just pray hard night and morning that God will befriend Bessie Clapp. When you see me kneeling I hope you will remember." Then she was gone; and the old man, staring with his dim eyes at the closed door, reflected uncomfortably that Prudence was growing strangely annoying. She was, as he also recognised, growing extraordinarily like her mother. Of course, he told himself, unconsciously self-deceiving, he had always intended to see that these people were sufficiently provided for. It was not necessary for his youngest daughter to point out his duty to him.