d
our old nurse used to come and scold me and watch me till I could have
killed her. Renata, darling Renata, used to talk to me after and make
me promise to try and be good, but she, too, was really afraid when I
was bad. I suppose they had both had so bad a time with father." She
stopped, gazing out at a misty half-understood tragedy, whose very
dimness woke a faint echo of terror in her heart, for she was as
surely the daughter of the woman who had suffered as of the man who
had caused the suffering.

"That's all," said Patricia, with a sudden movement, "everyone always
takes it as part of me. Nevil says I'll outgrow it. I don't--and
Renata cries."

"And I scold you. Anyhow, it isn't part of you in my eyes, but just a
beastly sort of thing which you let get hold of you, and then it isn't
you at all. It's all rot inheriting things, though of course, if you
_think_ so----" this young philosopher on the much-debated subject
shrugged his shoulders.

"But I don't think so, I don't want to think so," cried poor Patricia;
"it's just because you don't think it that you made me feel I can stop
it. Oh, Christopher, go on believing I can help it, please."

"But I do. Of course I do. It's a beastly shame anyone ever suggested
anything else to you. Come along home, Patricia, it will be
tea-time."

This was the establishing of a covenant between the two. Whether it
was from the suggestion or the dominant will of the boy himself, or
both causes combined, Patricia began to gather strength against her
terrible inheritance and, at all events in Christopher's presence,
actually did gain some show of control over her fits of passion.

The first of these times, about six months after the covenant on the
barrow, Nevil was present. Renata and one of the children had been
there also, but Renata had seen the queer pallor creep up in her
sister's face before even Christopher had guessed and had straightway
hurried off with Master Max, a proceeding which usually precipitated
events.

Then Christopher flung down his work and caught her clenched hand in
his.

"Stop it, Patricia," he said imperiously.

Nevil held his breath. It was a tradition in the Connell family that
interference invariably led to a catastrophe. In his indolent way he
had taken this belief on trust, the "laissez faire" policy being well
in accordance with his easy nature.

However, tradition was clearly wrong, for after one ineffectual
struggle, Patricia stood st