e in a house where my little
grandson can join you. I have excellent accounts of him in a letter from
your aunt, just received: My child, you must never again think that my
resignation has been due to you. It is not so. You know, or perhaps you
don't, that ever since the war broke out, I have chafed over staying at
home, my heart has been with our boys out there, and sooner or later it
must have come to this, apart from anything else. Monsieur Lavendie
has been round in the evening, twice; he is a nice man, I like him very
much, in spite of our differences of view. He wanted to give me the
sketch he made of you in the Park, but what can I do with it now? And to
tell you the truth, I like it no better than the oil painting. It is
not a likeness, as I know you. I hope I didn't hurt his feelings, the
feelings of an artist are so very easily wounded. There is one thing I
must tell you. Leila has gone back to South Africa; she came round one
evening about ten days ago, to say goodbye. She was very brave, for
I fear it means a great wrench for her. I hope and pray she may find
comfort and tranquillity out there. And now, my dear, I want you to
promise me not to see Captain Fort. I know that he admires you. But,
apart from the question of his conduct in regard to Leila, he made the
saddest impression on me by coming to our house the very day after her
departure. There is something about that which makes me feel he cannot
be the sort of man in whom I could feel any confidence. I don't suppose
for a moment that he is in your thoughts, and yet before going so far
from you, I feel I must warn you. I should rejoice to see you married to
a good man; but, though I don't wish to think hardly of anyone, I cannot
believe Captain Fort is that.

"I shall come down to you before I start, which may be in quite a short
time now. My dear love to you and Gracie, and best wishes to George.

"Your ever loving father,

"EDWARD PIERSON"

Across this letter lying on her knees, Noel gazed at the spidery
movement on the wall. Was it acquiescence that the old lady knitted, or
was it resistance--a challenge to death itself, a challenge dancing to
the tune of the needles like the grey ghost of human resistance to Fate!
She wouldn't give in, this oldest lady in the world, she meant to knit
till she fell into the grave. And so Leila had gone! It hurt her to know
that; and yet it pleased her. Acquiescence--resistance! Why did Daddy
always want to cho