e_!"

"' All--if you can spare them,'" read Mr. Carlyle, turning to the precious
letter once more.

"But you can't spare them," said Faith, suddenly sitting down on a chair
at her mother's side. Then, with a little gulp, and a little laugh,
"You can't spare me, mummy, you know you can't. We will send off Audrey
to be nursemaid to the babies, and--and you and I will have a nice quiet
time at home alone!" Her lip quivered just for a moment, but her big
brown eyes, full of a strained look of excitement, glanced from one to the
other with half-laughing defiance, as though daring them to say her nay.

Audrey's spirits dropped from fever-heat to several degrees below zero.
For one moment the prospect had been so beautiful, so ideal. A change, a
holiday, a journey, the sea, servants, comforts--no more dishwashing or
cooking. Oh, it was unbearably enticing. But almost with the same she
realised that none of these were for her. Faith was to go, if no one else
went. A glance at Faith's face made that quite plain. Yes, Faith must
go; and she, Audrey, must stay at home. And so she told her when, after
all the rest of the household was asleep, she crept down in her
dressing-gown to Faith's room. Fearing to knock, she had entered the room
with no more warning than a gentle rattle of the handle. But her warning
was lost on Faith who, hot night though it was, was lying with her head
buried under the bed-clothes, to deaden the sound of her sobs.

"Faith! What is the matter? tell me. Oh, what is it? do tell me!"

At the touch of Audrey's hand, Faith had thrust her head up suddenly.

"Oh, I was afraid it was father! I mean, I was afraid he had heard me."

"What is the matter?" asked Audrey, her voice full of anxiety.
"Oh, Faith, do tell me. Perhaps I can help."

"It--it isn't about not going to Ilfracombe," declared Faith stoutly.
"Audrey, I don't want to go, I would rather not. You must go. I really
want to stay at home."

"Why?"

"Because I do."

"That is no reason. You need a change and a holiday more than any of us,
and you know you would love it. You must go."

"I can't."

"But why?"

"I am too tired. I don't want the fag of it all."

"But you will be less tired if you do go. The change will do you heaps of
good, and it will not be a fag. I will pack for you."

Finding herself thus cornered, Faith's usually sweet temper gave way.
"I haven't anything to pack," she snapped impatiently, "nor any