speaking.

"I was not going to see you ruined before my eyes, Eustace. I did what I
did at very great cost. I did my best for you."

Barbara saw Miltoun's face transfigured by a dreadful smile--the smile of
one defying his torturer with hate. Lady Casterley went on:

"Yes, you stand there looking like a devil. Hate me if you like--but
don't betray us, moaning and moping because you can't have the moon. Put
on your armour, and go down into the battle. Don't play the coward,
boy!"

Miltoun's answer cut like the lash of a whip.

"By God! Be silent!"

And weirdly, there was silence. It was not the brutality of the words,
but the sight of force suddenly naked of all disguise--like a fierce dog
let for a moment off its chain--which made Barbara utter a little
dismayed sound. Lady Casterley had dropped into a chair, trembling. And
without a look Miltoun passed her. If their grandmother had fallen dead,
Barbara knew he would not have stopped to see. She ran forward, but the
old woman waved her away.

"Go after him," she said, "don't let him go alone."

And infected by the fear in that wizened voice, Barbara flew.

She caught her brother as he was entering the taxi-cab in which he had
come, and without a word slipped in beside him. The driver's face
appeared at the window, but Miltoun only motioned with his head, as if to
say: Anywhere, away from here!

The thought flashed through Barbara: "If only I can keep him in here with
me!"

She leaned out, and said quietly:

"To Nettlefold, in Sussex--never mind your petrol--get more on the road.
You can have what fare you like. Quick!"

The man hesitated, looked in her face, and said:

"Very well; miss. By Dorking, ain't it?"

Barbara nodded.

CHAPTER XXVIII

The clock over the stables was chiming seven when Miltoun and Barbara
passed out of the tall iron gates, in their swift-moving small world,
that smelled faintly of petrol. Though the cab was closed, light spurts
of rain drifted in through the open windows, refreshing the girl's hot
face, relieving a little her dread of this drive. For, now that Fate had
been really cruel, now that it no longer lay in Miltoun's hands to save
himself from suffering, her heart bled for him; and she remembered to
forget herself. The immobility with which he had received her intrusion,
was ominous. And though silent in her corner, she was desperately
working all her woman's wits to discover a way of breakin