o bed and be jolly well up in time to do
your part to-morrow! It's you I am studying, my good fellow," he made
shift to add in a kindlier tone; "you can't expect to do your work
unless you get your sleep. And I want you to round up every hoof in the
horse-paddock by sunrise, and after that every man in the hut!"

VI

BELOW ZERO

"May I come in?"

It was her brother at Moya's door, and he began to believe she must be
asleep after all. Theodore felt aggrieved; he wanted speech with Moya
before he went to bed. He was about to knock again when the door was
opened without a word. There was no light in the room. Yet the girl
stood fully dressed in the last level rays of the moon. And she had been
crying.

"Moya!"

"What do you want?"

"Only to speak to you."

"What about?"

"Yourself, to begin with. What's the trouble, my dear girl?"

He had entered in spite of her, and yet she was not really sorry that he
had come. She had suffered so much in silence that it would be relief to
speak about anything to anybody. Theodore was the last person in whom
she could or would confide. But there was something comfortable in his
presence just there and then. She could tell him a little, if she could
not tell him all; and he could tell her something in return.

She heard him at his match-box, and shut the door herself as he lit the
candles.

"Don't speak loud, then," said Moya. "I--I'd rather they didn't hear
us--putting our heads together."

"No fear. We've got the main building to ourselves, you and I. Rather
considerate of Rigden, that."

Indeed it was the best parlour that had been prepared for Moya, for in
your southern summers the best parlour of all is the shadiest verandah.
Theodore took to the sofa and a cigarette.

"Do you mind?" he said. "Then do please tell me what's the matter with
you, Moya!"

"Oh, can't you see? I'm so unhappy!"

Her eyes had filled, but his next words dried them.

"Had a row with Rigden?"

And he was leaning forward without his cigarette.

Moya hated him.

"Is that all that occurs to you?" she asked cuttingly. "I'm sorry to
disappoint you, I'm sure! I should have thought even you could have seen
there was enough to make one unhappy, without the consummation you so
devoutly----"

"Good, Moya! That's all right," said her brother, as he might have
complimented her across the net at lawn-tennis.

"It's quite unpleasant enough," continued Moya, with spirit, "without
your