at her. Yes! There was a lot in this child of his!
Depth, warmth, and strength to hold to things. No use to treat her as a
child! And he answered:

"My dear, there's really nothing beyond what you know--our young man and
Sheila are hotheads, and things over there are working up a bit. We must
try and smooth them down."

"Dad, ought I to back him whatever he does?"

What a question! The more so that one cannot answer superficially the
questions of those whom one loves.

"Ah!" he said at last. "I don't know yet. Some things it's not your
duty to do; that's certain. It can't be right to do things simply
because he does them--THAT'S not real--however fond one is."

"No; I feel that. Only, it's so hard to know what I do really
think--there's always such a lot trying to make one feel that only what's
nice and cosey is right!"

And Felix thought: 'I've been brought up to believe that only Russian
girls care for truth. It seems I was wrong. The saints forbid I should
be a stumbling-block to my own daughter searching for it! And
yet--where's it all leading? Is this the same child that told me only
the other night she wanted to know everything? She's a woman now! So
much for love!' And he said:

"Let's go forward quietly, without expecting too much of ourselves."

"Yes, Dad; only I distrust myself so."

"No one ever got near the truth who didn't."

"Can we go over to Joyfields to-morrow? I don't think I could bear a
whole day of Bigwigs and eating, with this hanging--"

"Poor Bigwigs! All right! We'll go. And now, bed; and think of
nothing!"

Her whisper tickled his ear:

"You are a darling to me, Dad!"

He went out comforted.

And for some time after she had forgotten everything he leaned out of his
window, smoking cigarettes, and trying to see the body and soul of night.
How quiet she was--night, with her mystery, bereft of moon, in whose
darkness seemed to vibrate still the song of the cuckoos that had been
calling so all day! And whisperings of leaves communed with Felix.

CHAPTER XXI

What Tod thought of all this was, perhaps, as much of an enigma to Tod as
to his three brothers, and never more so than on that Sunday morning when
two police constables appeared at his door with a warrant for the arrest
of Tryst. After regarding them fixedly for full thirty seconds, he said,
"Wait!" and left them in the doorway.

Kirsteen was washing breakfast things which had a leadless glaz