OUTLAW 
 
 MRS. ALFRED
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 OF CALIF* LIBRARY, IAS
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 BY 
 
 Mrs. ALFRED SIDGWICK 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 "SALT OF THE EARTH," "THE DEVIL'S CRADLE," ETC. 
 
 "Thou shalt not kill; but need'st not strive 
 Assiduously to keep alive." 
 
 A. Clough. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 W. J. WATT & COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY 
 W. J WATT & COMPANY 
 
 Printed in the United States of America
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 PROLOGUE 
 
 THE powder)' snow had been falling for hours, and 
 was gathering in drifts amongst the shrubs and 
 on either side of the drive. A path to the house, 
 wide enough for cars and carts, had been cleared that 
 morning by Mr. Twistleton's gardeners, but as dusk came 
 and all traffic stopped it was thinly covering again. Out- 
 side the house, in the suburban roads of Manchester, the 
 snow lay in shoveled heaps as cold as the sky, and as 
 grimy as the air; but within the gates of Green Bank 
 it preserved its whiteness and, except where small birds 
 left the mark of their claws, its smooth shining surface. 
 The lighted house stood surrounded by a white world, 
 warm within, freezing cold without. Daphne Twistleton 
 shivered as she made her way to the front door. She 
 carried a suit-case but no umbrella; and her hair, her 
 hat, and her long fur coat were powdered with snow. 
 
 Yet she had hardly walked two hundred yards. The 
 car that had brought her back to her husband's house 
 waited in a sheltered corner of the road, just outside; 
 waited, according to arrangement, in case anything went 
 wrong. Not that anything was likely to go wrong. 
 Daphne put down the suit-case, which was rather heavy 
 for her, and tried to open the front door. It was locked. 
 Of course. Jordan, the butler, had orders to lock it at 
 tea-time, and in Mr. Twistleton's house servants obeyed 
 orders. If they disobeyed they were dismissed. Daphne 
 rang the bell and waited. The cold was intense. Her 
 clothes, warm as they were, hardly protected her and she 
 
 2132778
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 shivered as she waited. She had not slept much since 
 she left home two days ago, and the snow had given her 
 violent neuralgia. Snow always did, unless she stayed 
 indoors and took care. Her body longed for rest and 
 warmth, but her thoughts were in such a turmoil that 
 even the stinging pain in her head and eyes seemed of 
 little moment ! How slow Jordan was in opening the 
 door! At last! She heard the inner door and then his 
 fingers at the lock, but what was he about? Instead of 
 throwing the door open he held it nearly shut, and 
 peeped at her through the aperture. 
 
 "It's me, Jordan," she said,. 
 
 "So I see, m'm," said he. Sorry!" 
 
 How uncomfortable he looked ! The hall light showed 
 his face plainly, and though he tried to keep it inexpres- 
 sive he was not succeeding well. He held something 
 in one hand. A letter ! He was shoving it through the 
 door as if he wished her to take it. Her heart began 
 to beat so violently that she could not speak for a mo- 
 ment. She took the letter and stood there staring at 
 Jordan through the chink in the door. 
 
 "Why don't you let me in?" she said, before she 
 looked at the letter. She could not read it without more 
 light. She did not want to read it just then. She wanted 
 to get inside the house. 
 
 "Sorry, m'm," said Jordan again. She wondered 
 whether she could slip past him, and decided she could 
 not. He was a big man and he stood as she had some- 
 times seen him stand when he was parleying with a 
 troublesome tramp or hawker. These gentry came to 
 the front door now and then, and by Mr. Twistleton's 
 orders were sent promptly away, but they knew where 
 to go to. They had their own shelters, Daphne sup- 
 posed. She had not, nor had she any money with her. 
 
 "Go and tell Mr. Twistleton that I am here !" she cried 
 next. "Be quick! I'm frozen."
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 3 
 
 The man hesitated. 
 
 "I can go and tell him, but I can't let you in, m'm," 
 he said. "I have strict orders." 
 
 "Well, be quick," she said, with a little catch in her 
 breath, "but mind you make Mr. Twistleton understand 
 that I must see him." 
 
 The man shut the door in her face, and she waited 
 close to it, listening. The pain in her eyes was acute, and 
 she felt sick with it. Her feet were sodden with snow 
 and numb with cold, for she had only taken thin shoes 
 away with her. Luckily she felt wide awake, and when 
 she heard the door again a quiver of hope set her pulses 
 beating fiercely. The pain beat with them, but her will 
 over-rode it, and when she saw her husband she faced 
 him. He stood there silent and implacable. 
 
 "I've come back, Henry," she said. 
 
 "You can go away again." 
 
 "I have nowhere to go." 
 
 "That is your lookout . . and your lover's." 
 
 "I have no lover." 
 
 He shut the door in her face. She beat on it loudly 
 with her hands. Then he opened it again and she saw 
 that his face was grim. 
 
 "If you make a disturbance I shall 'phone for the 
 police," he said. "Go back to Coverdale. You left my 
 house with him two days ago. I'll never receive you 
 again." 
 
 "I left to go to the Gaytons' ball. I wanted to go to 
 it so much." 
 
 "I had forbidden you to go." 
 
 "I should have been home yesterday, but the car broke 
 down. They promised to mend it, but it took longer 
 than they expected. We tried to get the last train and 
 just missed it." 
 
 "I have nothing more to say. You will hear from my 
 solicitors."
 
 4 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 "Henry ... I swear. . . ." 
 
 She saw that he did not believe her, and that he was 
 on the point of shutting her out again. 
 
 "Henry, let me in!" she cried; "I must come in. I 
 want Peggy." 
 
 "Peggy belongs to me." 
 
 "I am her mother." 
 
 "You deserted her." 
 
 "Only a day and a night ... to go to a ball. Let 
 me in. Henry. I've no money. What's to become of 
 me?" 
 
 "I'll never let you in . 7 . never. I've done with you." 
 
 "Then give me Peggy." 
 
 "No." 
 
 It seemed to the woman that the man's whole body 
 was convulsed with rage. His dull, horse-like features 
 were as gray as his hair; and his eyes were fixed on 
 her in anger and dislike. She had shifted her position 
 slightly, and from where she stood now she could see 
 beyond her husband into the inner hall. The very plants 
 she had arranged two days ago were on the central table ; 
 the seats were as she had left them ; the warm red carpet 
 she had chosen covered the stairs. This had been her 
 home for four years, and her child was in it. 
 
 "Can't you forgive me?" she said in a low voice, and 
 found it difficult to say. 
 
 He slammed the door in her face, turned the key and 
 took it out of the lock. She heard its grating sound as 
 he did so, and heard him shut the inner door a moment 
 later. She was alone in the dusk and the snow again : 
 uncertain what to do next. 
 
 There was one thing she could do. Major Coverdale 
 had said that he would wait where she had left him in 
 his car, till she let him know that all was well. If she 
 went back to him her way would be easy, easy and 
 irrevocable. All day long he had urged her to take it;
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 5 
 
 urged her to go with him, since they loved each other, 
 and she had held out for the child's sake ; but also because 
 the easy way, offering delight, does not come easy to a 
 woman of Daphne's traditions. In misery and bodily 
 pain she stumbled through the snow to the back of the 
 house, thinking that she would make one more effort 
 either to gain access or to get hold of her child. Here, 
 too, the door was locked against her, but she knocked 
 on it softly and had not long to wait. Mrs. Butterfield, 
 her elderly cook-housekeeper, came to the door herself 
 and looked at her young mistress with concern and 
 sympathy, but she did not let Daphne in. She mur- 
 mured something about the master's orders, and about 
 the house being his, and not hers, unfortunately. 
 
 "I want to see Miss Peggy," said Daphne. 
 
 "She isn't here," said Mrs. Butterfield. 
 
 That was a fresh blow, and Daphne's spirit quailed 
 under it. If her child was not in the house it was an 
 empty husk and yshe had nothing to seek there, but how 
 had it come about? Before she left home two days ago, 
 she had kissed Peggy good-by in her nursery, and left 
 her rosy, well, and smiling. 
 
 "Where is she?" she stammered. 
 
 "The master sent her away this morning with Nurse." 
 
 "Where to?" 
 
 "I don't know, m'm. None of us were told, and 
 Nurse wouldn't say a word. Had her orders, too, I 
 suppose." 
 
 Daphne turned slowly away. 
 
 "Where are you going to, m'm?" said the cook, her 
 eyes following the drooping figure turning from the 
 house. 
 
 "To the devil," said Daphne under her breath, and 
 heard the door slam behind her. It was done suddenly 
 as if in obedience to orders. Perhaps the master of the 
 house had listened to their voices and interfered. Per-
 
 6 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 haps Jordan, his mouthpiece, had appeared on the scene. 
 It did not matter much. If Daphne could have seen 
 Peggy, snatched her up, carried her off, her small, plump 
 body clinging warmly to her, Peggy might have saved 
 her, kept her in the straight path. . . . 
 
 "It's no use," she said to the man waiting for her. 
 He had got out of the car when he saw her coming, and 
 was standing beside her in the snow. 
 
 "What happened?" 
 
 "He won't have me in the house again." 
 
 "Did you see him?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Where's Peggy?" 
 
 "He has sent her away." 
 
 The man looked at the driving snow and at the threat- 
 ening sky. Without saying anything more he put Daphne 
 into the car and took the driver's seat himself. He 
 wanted to find a shelter for the night, as quickly as pos- 
 sible. It would take twenty minutes' steady driving to 
 get to the hotel he wished to reach, and the new snow 
 was lying thick on the roads already. Before long all 
 traffic for the night would be stopped by it. There was 
 very little traffic now : so little that he could think as 
 he drove. His thoughts, however, were not complicated. 
 He knew what he wanted and he was going to get what 
 he wanted : thanks to that skunk Henry Twistleton. How 
 had Daphne ever come to marry him? But she had 
 told him. A girl of eighteen . . . romantic, poor, gener- 
 ous. ... A wealthy, elderly suitor ... a persuasive 
 mother . . . the story was as old as the hills, and as 
 commonplace. Daphne had tried to do her duty too. 
 He had good reason to know that. What he did not 
 know, but guessed at, was Rhoda's share in the catas- 
 trophe, and what she meant to gain by it. 
 
 "Here we are!" he said, when they reached the hotel,
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 7 
 
 and he had opened the door of the car. He spoke in a 
 cheerful, matter-of-fact way, as if it were the most 
 natural thing in the world for him to arrive at a well- 
 known hotel with Daphne and stay there with her. She 
 got out. He felt shocked when he saw the pallor of her 
 face and the pain in her eyes : but he took her upstairs 
 as quickly as he could, ordered a fire to be lighted at once, 
 and while this was being done, went down to see about 
 his car. When he got back the fire was burning and 
 Daphne was alone in the room. She still sat in the 
 chair to which he had led her, but she had slipped off 
 her fur coat and was staring at a open letter in her 
 hands. He sat down close beside her, took her hands 
 in his and found that they were icy cold. 
 
 "You're frozen. . . . You're ill. . . . Your feet are 
 wet through with standing about in the snow," he cried. 
 
 Without speaking and without meeting his eyes she 
 gave him the letter she held and waited silently while he 
 read it. She hid her head when he came to the end 
 and with an angry exclamation crushed it and threw it 
 on the fire. She made no effort to reclaim it. The few 
 short sentences in which her husband accused her of 
 infidelity and threatened her with divorce were burning 
 in her brain. Word for word she could remember them. 
 
 "I'll take you to Italy," said the man beside her. "We'll 
 wait there till you are free and then we'll marry." 
 
 "I can't think to-night," said the girl, pressing her 
 hands to her eyes. "I'm crazy with pain. I'm frozen 
 with cold. To-morrow. . . ." 
 
 "Very well," said the man slowly. "To-morrow!"
 
 PART I 
 
 LAW 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE Twistletons had made their money in trade, 
 and they had made a great deal. Henry Twistle- 
 ton was the head of the firm, and the head of 
 the family. For some time past he had thought of 
 retiring from business and living at Beda Close, his house 
 on Hallinwater: but he was a man of habit and found 
 it hard to uproot himself. He had found it hard, four 
 years ago, to give up his bachelor life and settle down 
 as a married man ; and he would probably never have 
 done it if he had not wished for an heir to whom he 
 could leave his worldly goods. He had brothers, but 
 he was on frigid terms with them and their children. 
 He thought of them as counting on his money; especially 
 those who had not got on in life as he had, and he 
 grudged them their natural succession. 
 
 At a house in Yorkshire where he had gone with his 
 gun for the twelfth, he had met Daphne Mordaunt and 
 her mother, and within a week, thanks to the mother, 
 had arranged that the girl should marry him. The 
 mother was a determined woman who had found life a 
 battle, and had brought up her daughter to do as she 
 was told. Here was a royal chance for a penniless girl, 
 and she should shut her eyes and take it. Daphne did 
 not seem unwilling. She was eighteen at the time, and 
 Mr. Twistleton was fifty. She had never known what it 
 was to possess a spare sixpence, and he offered her the
 
 io LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 kingdoms of the world as far as they could be bought 
 with money. She wanted above all things to go to Italy, 
 and he said that if she married him he would take her 
 there on their wedding journey. She thought more about 
 Venice than about him, and was greatly tempted. She 
 was as ignorant of life as a child, and used to take 
 her mother's advice in all things. Mrs. Mordaunt, on 
 tip-toe with anxiety, did not actually compel, but pointed 
 out and cajoled. Poverty was hard and withering. A 
 difference of years between husband and wife did not 
 matter, when the years were with the man. "Let still 
 the woman take an elder to herself." Daphne must 
 please herself, of course, but if she wished her mother 
 to die happy. . . . 
 
 It never occurred to Daphne even to think that it was 
 more important for her to live happy than for her mother 
 to die happy. In those days she had not learned to 
 criticise her mother's arguments. As it turned out, Mrs. 
 Mordaunt did die happy about a year later, soon after 
 her grandchild Peggy had been born. She had not seen 
 much of Daphne since her marriage, and from the girl's 
 letters she judged that all was well. Daphne never com- 
 plained. What could she have complained of? She had 
 married with her eyes open, as the saying goes, and 
 knew that her husband was elderly and dull. Perhaps 
 she had expected him to be the affectionate slave of 
 her youth and beauty ; instead of which she found herself 
 bound by his canons of conduct and domestic law. She 
 was to look after his house, be the mother of his children, 
 and show herself grateful for the material comforts she 
 enjoyed at his expense. What could a woman want 
 that he could not give her? She found the house ready 
 furnished in a style she did not like, and was not allowed 
 to alter; but she should not have been unreasonable 
 enough to wish to do so. He did let her choose a new 
 stair carpet when one was needed, and put up with
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW II 
 
 a red that was almost vermilion instead of the brownish 
 shade that he considered practical. She would have worn 
 these flaring colors if he had permitted it, but he quoted 
 St. Paul to her and stopped them. She had to refuse 
 dances and other pleasures because her husband would 
 not go to such entertainments himself, and would not 
 let her go without him ; but what does a girl expect when 
 she marries a man thirty-two years older than herself? 
 He could not help being the husband of a young wife 
 at home, but he had no intention of playing the part 
 abroad. He made up his mind about that on their wed- 
 ding journey. Daphne, it seemed, was attractive to young 
 men. If permitted they would have swarmed round her 
 like butterflies round a flowering buddleia. Mr. Twistle- 
 ton was determined not to permit it, and put his foot 
 down when he got back to Manchester. Daphne had 
 been tractable at first. He had had no trouble with her 
 till she met Coverdale. 
 
 It is well known to men of Mr. Twistleton's kind that 
 army men have no morals. He would have kept him 
 out of his house if he could. But Major Coverdale had 
 come there with Rhoda Vyell, the young widow who 
 lived close by and with whom Mr. Twistleton desired his 
 wife to associate. The two women had never made 
 friends. Daphne said she did not like Rhoda, but gave 
 no reasons. Every man knows how mulish a woman can 
 be in such cases. Of course Mr. Twistleton asked Rhoda 
 to the house as often as he wished, and of course Daphne 
 entertained her civilly. Unfortunately all through the 
 autumn she brought Major Coverdale with her, and Mr. 
 Twistleton had soon seen that the young man and his 
 wife were in love with each other. He did not expect 
 anything to come of it except heartache, a malady he 
 only knew by hearsay and thought negligible. He read 
 the papers every day and yet lived in the faith that men 
 and women are not led from the paths of prudence by
 
 12 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 passion. When Mrs. Vyell proposed that Daphne should 
 go with her to the Gayton dance in Major Coverdale's 
 car, he had forbidden his wife to accept the invitation. 
 She had wept with vexation and disappointment, but she 
 had not moved him. When he found that in spite of 
 his prohibition she had gone, and gone without Mrs. 
 Vyell, his wrath consumed him. He understood why 
 men beat women who anger them. 
 
 "Couldn't you have prevented it?" he had said to 
 Rhoda, and she had answered in such a way that he 
 understood it to have been inevitable. She was very 
 sorry to have failed them at the last moment, when they 
 came to her door to fetch her; but she had had a bad 
 headache and did not feel fit for such an expedition. 
 She could assure Mr. Twistleton that her defection at 
 that particular moment made no difference. If they had 
 not gone away together that day, they would have gone 
 another. For some time past Rhoda had seen that they 
 were losing their heads. 
 
 "You really believe . . ." stuttered Mr. Twistleton. 
 
 The poor man could not bring himself to say plainly 
 what he thought Rhoda really believed, but he saw that 
 she took a serious view. 
 
 "I'll wait up for them," he said. "I'll let Daphne in 
 myself, and when she sees how angry I am. . . ." 
 
 Mrs. Vyell had smiled and advised him to go to bed. 
 He had not taken her advice. He had sat up all night 
 and in the course of his bitter vigil he had thought of 
 her smile many times. She knew more than she would 
 say. How much did she know? Next day he would 
 see her again and question her closely. She was a clever 
 woman : clever and handsome, but difficult to understand. 
 Not transparent like Daphne: but it was Daphne who 
 had betrayed him. Of course, Rhoda was an older 
 woman than his wife. About twenty-nine or thirty, he 
 supposed. He wondered she had never married again.
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 13 
 
 Poor Vyell had died five years ago and left her badly 
 provided for; but she made a little go a long way. She 
 lived in that small house with her only child and two 
 maids, and the house was well run on next to nothing. 
 Mr. Twistleton knew, because he was poor Vyell's acting 
 executor, and had seen a great deal of Rhoda after 
 her husband's death. At one time it had even crossed 
 his mind . . . but then he had gone to Yorkshire, met 
 Daphne and come back an affianced man. He remem- 
 bered breaking the news to Rhoda. It had been an 
 uncomfortable thing to do. She had not liked it; he 
 saw that ; but she had taken it well. She was a quiet, 
 self-contained woman, not lively and high-spirited like 
 Daphne. She had strange, fixed eyes with heavy lids, 
 wide nostrils, and a mouth that was usually tightly shut. 
 Her wavy hair was quite black and grew low on her 
 temples, and in the whites of her eyes there was a tinge 
 of blue. She moved slowly and with grace, and she 
 dressed well. Daphne had once said with a shudder 
 that Rhoda had a cruel mouth ; but Daphne's opinion 
 did not count. She had been willing enough lately to 
 frequent Rhoda's house and meet Major Coverdale there. 
 Mr. Twistleton would have stopped this if he had known 
 where it would lead ; but at first Rhoda had reassured 
 him. Now she blamed herself, now that it was too late. 
 
 For forty-eight hours Mr. Twistleton had waited and 
 raged ; gone to Rhoda for advice ; suffered in his pride ; 
 made his plans. A telegram had come from Daphne 
 saying that she had spent the night with the Gaytons, 
 and would be back to dinner. Rhoda's incredulous smile 
 as she read it confirmed his suspicions. When night 
 came and still his wife did not return, Mr. Twistleton 
 knew what he was going to do. In the morning he sent 
 Peggy and her nurse to his sister at Alderly Edge. 
 
 "I think Daphne will come back," Rhoda had said. 
 "She will come back to her child."
 
 14 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 "She has forfeited all right to her child," said Mr. 
 Twistleton savagely. 
 
 Rhoda had sighed, but agreed with him. All through 
 his trouble she had showed herself discreet and sym- 
 pathetic. 
 
 Mr. Twistleton could not have told you when the 
 thought of marrying her first came into his mind again. 
 On general principles he disapproved of divorce: said 
 it put a premium on immorality. He did not wish to 
 hear that Daphne had married Major Coverdale. On 
 the contrary he would have wished her to do penance in 
 a sheet and drag out the rest of her dishonored life 
 pointed at and avoided like a plague. Again Rhoda 
 agreed with him, but sighed. She was a fascinating 
 woman, certainly: always the same; always at leisure 
 to listen to a man and say just what pleased him. So 
 different from Daphne, who had been smiles one moment 
 and tears the next, with a quick temper of her own and 
 bent on pleasure. Not that Daphne's temper had ever 
 ruffled Mr. Twistleton. He had known how to deal with 
 it. Still, a man marries in order to have the blessings 
 and advantages of connubial life with the least possible 
 trouble to himself. Daphne had not been a good house- 
 keeper. She had left everything to the old servants she 
 found in the house when she came to it as a bride, and 
 had amused herself with flowers, books, and music. She 
 played the piano well, but as Mr. Twistleton did not 
 know one note from another, he had only listened to her 
 when other people were present, and invited her to per- 
 form. She did not play cards, and never seemed able 
 to learn, although at one time he had tried to teach her. 
 In fact, she had been a failure from beginning to end. 
 Peggy ought to have been a boy. So Mr. Twistleton 
 mused and grumbled ; while Rhoda Vyell knitted herself 
 a jade green jersey and put in a word here and there 
 that gradually led a dull, middle-aged gentleman to be-
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 15 
 
 lieve that life still held consolations. At the proper time 
 he instituted proceedings for divorce, and as soon as 
 it was legally possible he married Rhoda. He enjoyed 
 his second honeymoon. Rhoda was a woman, not a 
 child; old enough to be a companion, young enough to 
 please. She spent a great deal of money and accepted 
 everything he gave her as a matter of course. In fact, 
 he often had an uncomfortable feeling that he was not 
 giving her as much as she expected. The jewels that 
 had been good enough for Daphne were not good enough 
 for her. She took possession of them but wanted others 
 more rare and valuable. Although she had bought her- 
 self a great many clothes when she married again, she 
 bought a great many more with her husband's money 
 when they were in Paris together. There seemed to 
 be no limit to the personal luxury with which she liked 
 to surround herself. When she got everything she 
 wanted, she was even-tempered, but beneath her quiet 
 manner something smoldered that Mr. Twistleton had 
 not suspected and hardly understood yet. He saw a 
 glimpse of it one day in the Bois, when a tiny child, 
 badly dressed and dirty, came too close to her. Before 
 she noticed it, a small grimy paw had clutched at a bit of 
 gay embroidery on her frock, and left a little finger-mark 
 on the delicate fabric of which the frock was made. She 
 had risen to her feet in a fury, given the child a shove 
 that left it sprawling on the ground, and walked on. 
 The child was hurt and frightened by the fall and wailed 
 loudly, but she never turned her head. Mr. Twistleton 
 picked it up and restored it to an elder sister, who looked 
 frightened herself and was not old enough to remon- 
 strate. 
 
 "That child hurt its arm badly as it fell," he said 
 when he rejoined her. 
 
 She made no answer, but after a silence that he felt 
 was hostile began to talk of something else. When
 
 16 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 they got back to their hotel they found letters and papers 
 awaiting them, and when Mr. Twistleton opened his 
 Times he saw the announcement of Daphne's marriage 
 to Major Coverdale. This angered him deeply, and at 
 great length he proceeded to expound his views with 
 regard to unfaithful wives. They had not moved much 
 since the time when such sinners were burned at the stake. 
 
 "Has Coverdale money?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes," said Rhoda. "He has a good deal." 
 
 "I'm sorry to hear it," said Mr. Twistleton. 
 
 The second Mrs. Twistleton's half-closed her eyes and 
 looked at her perturbed mate with derision. 
 
 "I don't think he has as much as you," she said, "but 
 he has more than enough for Daphne. She never seemed 
 to want anything but Peggy and her piano." 
 
 "She hasn't got Peggy," said Mr. Twistleton, and that 
 idea seemed to give him satisfaction. 
 
 "No, we have Peggy," said Mrs. Twistleton.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 TTVEGGY woke earlier than usual because it was her 
 r^ birthday: her ninth birthday. She did not expect 
 anything exciting to happen; at least, nothing 
 pleasant. But when you are nine you never know. You 
 are too old to believe in fairies, but you are young 
 enough to think that what happens to other children 
 might equally well happen to you. Suppose you went 
 downstairs to breakfast instead of having it in the school- 
 room with Miss Busby and Mabel: and suppose your 
 father and mother kissed you good-morning, wished you 
 many happy returns and led you up to a surprise table 
 full of presents. Everything you wanted most! A fish- 
 ing-rod, a fox-terrier puppy (but he couldn't be on the 
 table), Grimm's Fairy Tales, a big birthday cake! Iced! 
 Pink and white, with letters on it. At tea-time it would 
 have nine little lighted candles on it, and you, Peggy, 
 would be allowed to cut it, and all the children who had 
 come to tea with you would have some. After tea there 
 would be games, and last of all little glasses of lemonade 
 and cakes. . . . 
 
 There would be no children, there would be no cakes 
 and probably no presents. All these joys had been 
 showered on Celia Aysgarth last week and Mabel had 
 been allowed to go to the birthday party. She had 
 brought home the glittering account of it that fed Peggy's 
 dreams, but Peggy had forfeited all right to be treated 
 like a well-behaved child. She was bad: as bad as a 
 child can be. Everyone said so; even Paterson, the 
 head gardener who had been kind to her when she first 
 came to Beda Close. He used to call her into one of 
 the sheds and give her flowers or fruit sometimes, but
 
 i8 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 he never did so now. It was as much as his place was 
 worth, he told her. Besides, one day not long ago when 
 she had felt frozen with cold and dazed with crying she 
 had gone into his peach house and hidden there : for 
 she had known where to find the key. Unfortunately 
 she came out of it in a fright and a hurry and left the 
 door open. There had been a sharp frost that night and 
 the tragic sequel of her carelessness was that the man- 
 sion, as the servants called the house, would have to 
 send to Manchester for its peaches this summer or go 
 without. Paterson did not understand what it meant to 
 feel so frightened that you turned stupid and ran head- 
 long, anywhere, so that it was far enough. Not that 
 it ever answered. Someone officious is sure to find you 
 and bring you back: and then you are punished. Be- 
 sides, though you start running blindly, sooner or later 
 you reflect that you have nowhere to go and that night is 
 coming and that you are hungry and tired. Peggy was 
 only nine, but she had discovered that escape without 
 help was impossible. She did not even think of it as a 
 rule. A child of her age accepts her fate and lives in 
 the present. On the morning of her birthday, although 
 she was not supposed to get up till she was called, she 
 stole out of bed and looked through the window at the 
 lake. The sun was shining on it, and the hills on the 
 opposite shore were fast emerging from the broken and 
 delicate veils of mist that had hidden them at dawn. 
 The thrush that had a nest just beneath the window was 
 flying to and fro with food for her young. By leaning 
 still further over the sill Peggy might catch sight of their 
 heads with their beaks all turned upwards for their meal. 
 She had done so yesterday successfully. She would do 
 so again to-day, very carefully and quietly, so that Miss 
 Busby did not hear her. If she took a stick and pushed 
 back the branches of the creeper from the nest she would 
 be able to see still better. The baby thrushes would not
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 19 
 
 mind, and the mother thrush would be glad because it 
 would be easier to get to the nest. Peggy came back 
 from the window and looked round the room for a stick. 
 
 "Peggy!" 
 
 The child started and stared at the disheveled figure 
 of the woman who had just come into the room. It was 
 Miss Busby, the governess, who slept in the adjoining 
 room with Mabel and was regarded with derision and a 
 half-tolerant dislike by both her pupils. She had a 
 foolish, fretful face and round pale eyes, and her voice 
 was squeakily complaining. 
 
 "Peggy ! you know you are not allowed to get up till 
 I call you. I don't want to punish you on your birth- 
 day, but I ought to. Many happy returns and here is a 
 little present for you. But what a troublesome child 
 you are, with your bare feet on the floor when there 
 might be pins or needles about. I know someone who 
 had to have a needle cut out of her foot and the cut 
 festered and hot poultices had to be applied. You would 
 not like that, you know, and you have bedroom slippers." 
 
 Peggy had taken the wrapped-up parcel from Miss 
 Busby's hands and was undoing the wrapper. She hardly 
 heard what the governess said. It was so exciting to 
 have a birthday and a present before breakfast. She 
 did not like Miss Busby much : and especially not in 
 the early morning when the governess was without her 
 false teeth and her false plait, unwashed and uncombed. 
 Her person offended Peggy's fastidious instincts, and 
 so did her shabby old flannel dressing-gown, and her 
 red quilted bedroom slippers torn at the toes. But it 
 was very kind of her to have crocheted Peggy a cap 
 and coat for her big doll Selina. Peggy did not play 
 with dolls much now. She was getting rather old for 
 them and they never had appealed to her as they had 
 to Mabel. However, she still possessed Selina. The cap 
 was black and the coat was black and yellow like a wasp.
 
 20 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 "Thank you very much," said Peggy. "Now we can 
 have a murder trial and Selina can be the judge. I 
 found a dead mole yesterday and hid it in case I should 
 want it. I don't suppose it will be very bad yet." 
 
 Miss Busby called her a horrid child and thrust her 
 back into bed. There she had to lie till the housemaid 
 came with hot water and early tea for the adjoining 
 room. Even then she was not allowed to get up and 
 dress herself. Mabel, who was eleven, did. Mabel went 
 into the bathroom belonging to the schoolroom wing and 
 had an agreeable warm bath that she adjusted for her- 
 self : but Peggy had to wait till Miss Busby had finished 
 her early tea and was ready to give her the cold bath 
 ordered for her. She never got used to it or liked it, 
 but she had to endure it every morning. Miss Busby 
 was not an agreeable bath attendant. She would not 
 get up till the last moment and then she did everything 
 in a hurry: plunging Peggy suddenly into the ice-cold 
 water and scolding her if she wriggled. The soap went 
 into her eyes, the shock took her breath away, the rough 
 towel scrubbed her painfully. Even on her birthday, in 
 April, Peggy's teeth chattered with cold as she tried to 
 dress herself in the bedroom. Mabel came in before she 
 had finished, wished her many happy returns, and 
 presented her with a large spotted china cat. Mabel 
 liked china cats, but she might have known that Peggy 
 did not. What can you do with a china cat except put 
 it on a shelf and see that it is hideous? 
 
 "Thank you," said Peggy politely. 
 
 "I don't believe you like it," said Mabel. 
 
 She was a pretty child in a dull way. She had dark 
 curly hair, empty eyes, a straight nose and a small but- 
 ton mouth. She never seemed to have a hair of her 
 head or a fold of her clothes in disarray, and she was as 
 vain as a peacock. In choosing a present for Peggy she 
 had not considered her step-sister's tastes for a moment.
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 21 
 
 She had bought the cat because it pleased her, and she 
 was ready to feel aggrieved if it did not please Peggy. 
 
 "I do like it rather," said Peggy, still trying to be 
 polite. 
 
 Then a most unfortunate thing happened. Her fingers 
 were still numb with cold and were trying to hold the 
 cat and fasten her frock at the same time; and the 
 cat slipped from them and smashed in fragments on 
 the bare floor. There was a small carpet in the room, 
 but the cat fell just outside it. Mabel gave tongue in a 
 wail that brought Miss Busby on the scene helter-skelter. 
 
 "What has she done to you?" she cried, addressing 
 Mabel. 
 
 "Br-r-roken my cat on purpose!" howled Mabel. 
 
 "Do you mean to say that she has broken the cat 
 you bought her with your pocket-money for her birthday 
 just thrown it on the floor and smashed it to atoms?" 
 
 Mabel sobbed more loudly than before, and nodded 
 her head. Peggy's eyes filled with tears too. It was 
 dreadful the way things hippened even on your birth- 
 day: and it was no use to^ay you were sorry, because 
 you would not be believed. Besides, you were not very 
 sorry. You did hate china cats, and Mabel knew it. 
 This one had been spotted and the ugliest Peggy had 
 ever seen ; still, she would not have broken it on purpose. 
 She would have kept it a little while, and then presented 
 it to Mabel for her collection of china animals, which 
 was large and various. 
 
 "What is all this noise?" said a low, level voice at 
 the open door. And there stood Mother, in her em- 
 broidered scarlet dressing-gown that came from China, 
 and had dragons on it. She was not Mother really, but 
 you had to call her so, although you remembered your 
 real mother quite well, and a frock she sometimes wore 
 when she took you on her knee and called you her lady- 
 bird and her pigeon. It was a blue frock with a bit of 
 
 4^
 
 22 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 fur near the neck that you called your pussy and liked 
 to stroke. 
 
 "Come here!" said Mother, when she had heard Miss 
 Busby's story, which was borne out by Mabel's tear- 
 stained face ; and you had to go, though you knew she 
 would hurt you. But if you did not go she would hurt 
 you more. She had Carlo with her this morning, the 
 great black cat which followed her everywhere and 
 arched his back at you if you tried to play with him. 
 When he was not with Mother he was in the garden 
 stalking birds. Sometimes he brought one in, and last 
 week Peggy had found him in a dark corner of the hall 
 mumbling over a baby rabbit that he had half killed 
 and eaten. He was a wicked cat, and when Peggy saw 
 him padding after the scarlet dressing-gown, she won- 
 dered whether he would go with Mother if ever she went 
 up in the skies on a broomstick. Mother was not thin 
 enough for a witch and she had not a nut-cracker nose 
 and chin, but everyone knows that when a witch is clever 
 she can disguise herself. 
 
 "Come here," she said again, and Peggy went, her 
 heart in her shoes. 
 
 "Pick up those pieces and bring them to me," she 
 ordered, and Peggy knelt down to do as she was told. 
 While she was on her knees she heard Miss Busby and 
 Mabel leave the room, and that frightened her. It was 
 always worse when she was alone with Mother than 
 when other people were present. 
 
 "You broke it on purpose." 
 
 The woman towered above the shrinking child, power- 
 ful and implacable. 
 
 "It slipped," said Peggy, her breath so affected by 
 fright that she could hardly speak. 
 
 "Confess that you did it on purpose." 
 
 "But I didn't!" cried Peggy. 
 
 "You lie. No one believes what you say. You did
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 23 
 
 it to spite Mabel because you are jealous of her. You 
 like to vex her and hurt her feelings." 
 
 "It slipped," reiterated Peggy, and instinctively put 
 up her arm as if to ward off a blow. Mrs. Twistleton 
 seized it, pulled the child to her feet and shook her 
 violently over and over again. Peggy had a confused 
 impression of her step-mother's hard, set mouth, with 
 its cruel corners, as she did this, and of the look in her 
 eyes. She felt bruised and dizzy when at last she was 
 thrown back upon the floor, and thrown so roughly that 
 she fell forward upon the broken china. It hurt horribly, 
 and she could not keep back a scream of pain. 
 
 "What have you been doing to yourself?" said Miss 
 Busby and Mabel a moment later. Mrs. Twistleton had 
 taken no notice of Peggy's cry, but had moved slowly 
 past the open schoolroom door, along the corridor to 
 her own quarters. The heavy scent she used still clung 
 to the air, when the governess and Mabel crossed her 
 path in order to see what had happened to the family 
 black sheep this time. As a rule after a scene with 
 her step-mother she was discovered on the bed tearful, 
 sore, raging and humiliated, but to-day she was not on 
 the bed. She crouched on the floor dazed and pallid, 
 while the blood streamed from a cut on her cheek. Mabel 
 stared at her step-sister and then turned away. 
 
 "I wish I hadn't come in," she said plaintively. "The 
 sight of blood always upsets me. Can't Peggy have 
 breakfast in here, Miss Busby? I sha'n't be able to eat 
 mine if I look at her." 
 
 "Go and eat yours now," said the governess. "By 
 the time I have seen to Peggy you will have nearly 
 finished. How did it happen, Peggy?" 
 
 Peggy waited until Mabel was out of the room, and 
 then with a catch in her voice said, "She shook me as 
 hard as she could and then threw me down. I feel sick 
 and funny in my head, and look at my frockl"
 
 24 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 "Dear, dear!" said Miss Busby. "I never saw such 
 a child for bringing trouble on herself and others. The 
 breakfast will be stone cold by the time we get it. Why 
 did you break the cat?" 
 
 "It slipped," said Peggy wearily for the third time.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 IT was just as bad after breakfast as it had been 
 before. Father came into the schoolroom and said 
 that as you had been disobedient and ungrateful you 
 could not have the sovereign he had intended to give 
 you ; and lessons must be done as usual : and after lunch, 
 which was your dinner, you would have to learn three 
 verses of "Eugene Aram" and repeat them to Mother 
 when you went down at five o'clock. You knew it was 
 wrong to think of a present before you got it. Miss 
 Busby always told you so, and when Father had gone 
 she said it was a judgment on you. Perhaps it was: but 
 if Mabel had given you something soft instead of a china 
 cat you would not have broken it: and then you would 
 have had your birthday sovereign as Mabel had hers a 
 month ago: and you would have been able to buy a 
 fox-terrier pup when they arrived at Dixon's cottage. 
 Dixon had told you that he had ordered three or four 
 and expected them any day and that you should have 
 the pick of the bunch for a sovereign. Now you would 
 have to tell him that you could not buy one. But you 
 were not to go out this afternoon. That was the worst 
 of all. Not to go out on a day like this when the birds 
 were singing, and it was warm enough to be on the lake, 
 and all the trees were bursting into leaf. Even if you 
 could have stayed at home and read the "Arabian Nights" 
 you might have enjoyed yourself, and looked forward to 
 going out to-morrow ; but the "Arabian Nights" belonged 
 to Mabel and she would not lend it to you, although she 
 never read it herself. She said she did not want it dogV
 
 26 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 eared and pointed to your poetry book. But that had 
 not been new when you had it. Besides, you generally 
 had to learn verses when you had been naughty, and 
 some of your naughtiness did at times vent itself on a 
 book associated with punishment. You liked a great 
 many of the poems in it, but you never liked those set 
 for you to learn. Some were dull and some were hor- 
 rible. You did not care much for "Lucy Gray" and 
 you hated "King Crocodile." Celia Aysgarth had an 
 enchanting book about a crocodile pulling a baby ele- 
 phant by its nose, but that did not frighten you as the 
 poem did. Besides, however well you learned your 
 verses, you would stammer and stumble when you tried 
 to say them to Mother. When her eyes fixed themselves 
 on you something went dead and silly in your brain, 
 so that you forgot what you had known as well 
 while you came downstairs. Afterwards you would re- 
 member it perfectly, but that was not much use, especially 
 when the poem you had been made to learn was one 
 that you wished you could forget. You had always 
 hurried past "The Dream of Eugene Aram," but now 
 you knew most of it by heart, and could not get it out 
 of your mind : 
 
 Of lonely folk cut off unseen 
 And hid in sudden graves: 
 Of horrid stabs in groves forlorn 
 And murders done in caves. 
 
 As long as it was light you could forget it, and so you 
 could while other people were with you. It was when 
 you were shut up in an attic or a garden shed . . . 
 locked in so that no one could let you out except Mother, 
 who would not come even if you screamed. Miss Busby 
 knew the most dreadful murder stories and liked telling 
 them, but she never told them to Mabel. Sometimes 
 you wished she would not tell them to you, but it was
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 27 
 
 rather difficult not to listen when she was in one of her 
 kind moods and let you look at her picture paper. 
 
 And unknown facts of guilty acts 
 Are seen in dreams from God ! 
 
 That had come into the verses you had learned last 
 week, and you had been obliged to say them over ten 
 times because they were about you as well as about 
 Eugene Aram. It meant that the eye of God saw your 
 wickedness and would punish it. You might hide things 
 on earth if you were clever and deceitful, but you could 
 not hide anything from Heaven. You hardly knew your- 
 self whether you were glad or sorry when the china cat 
 was broken. But Heaven knew and judged you accord- 
 ingly. At least Miss Busby said so, and she was very 
 religious. She said everything was known beforehand 
 and that it was written in the book of Fate whether 
 you would grow up so wicked that some day you would 
 commit a murder as Eugene Aram did, and be hanged. 
 A horrible verse would have to be learned and repeated 
 to-day. Not that it needed learning. You knew every 
 word, although you always tried not to look at it: 
 
 Two sudden blows with a ragged stick, 
 And one with a heavy stone, 
 One hurried gash with a hasty knife, 
 And then the deed was done : 
 There was nothing lying at my feet 
 But lifeless flesh and bone. 
 
 It was true. It was real. Many years ago it had 
 happened to a poor old man. Miss Busby had found an 
 account of it in one of the old books in the library 
 downstairs, and had read it aloud. She said you were to 
 remember that Eugene Aram had not always been a 
 murderer, but only a young man with evil proclivities,
 
 28 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 and that if you were born with evil proclivities you 
 should be grateful to the elders who corrected them. 
 
 With a start Peggy came out of these speculative 
 troubles into the actual one of a lesson on the geography 
 of Italy, to which she had not been attending properly. 
 She was never allowed to sit opposite the window, be- 
 cause she looked out when she should not have done, 
 but even on the schoolroom wall the sunlight was dancing 
 to-day and making patterns. She watched it while Miss 
 Busby fussed and scolded and said that if she did not 
 point to Florence, Rome, and Naples instantly she should 
 go without her milk and biscuits at eleven. Then she 
 looked at her open atlas and saw an indistinguishable 
 network of names on a dark background. Mabel had 
 one with a sensible light background, but Peggy knew 
 that she would not be allowed to use it. She would 
 only be told that she had an envious disposition, and 
 probably get rapped over the knuckles by Miss Busby's 
 ruler. Miss Busby was not cruel. She did not exactly 
 enjoy hurting you. There was only one person in the 
 world as bad as that, but Miss Busby had an irritable 
 temper, especially when she had not slept well and felt 
 her neuralgia coming on. Once she had been engaged 
 to a curate and the curate had jilted her for a creature 
 with golden hair and money. Miss Busby always spoke 
 of her rival as a creature, and she told Peggy that for a 
 single moment she had known what it felt like to wish 
 to put an enemy out of the way. But she had conquered 
 her evil passions as Peggy must learn to do. Peggy's 
 head ached this morning and she wanted her milk and 
 biscuits badly. She could not find any of the names 
 demanded of her, partly because Miss Busby hammered 
 on the table impatiently and drank her own glass of 
 milk with a gurgling sound that was unpleasant. 
 
 Peggy was a thin, nervous-looking child with greenish 
 eyes that were both scared and dare-devil, and with a
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 29 
 
 mop of short, copper-colored hair. Her little life had 
 been a sea of troubles for years, either because her step- 
 mother was wicked, or because she was wicked herself. 
 She never felt quite sure which. In the stories she knew 
 about cruel step-mothers the child was always blameless 
 and holy. She was never a tomboy that tumbles out of 
 one scrape into another. Peggy would have been blame- 
 less and holy if she could. But things were so difficult. 
 This morning, for instance, she ought to have attended 
 to her geography lesson instead of allowing her fancy to 
 engage itself with painted terrors. Mabel was different. 
 She was afraid of everything she could touch and of 
 nothing she could only think about. But Mabel was 
 stupid: and as for being fond of her, you might as well 
 be fond of that wooden idol in the toy cupboard that had 
 come long ago from the South Seas. Mabel was pretty 
 and the idol was hideous, but they were both wooden 
 and had dollish eyes. Mabel was greedy too. She had 
 eaten a large breakfast this morning and Peggy had 
 eaten hardly anything; and yet she had just stretched 
 out her hand towards Peggy's biscuits after having 
 finished her own. It was more than Peggy could bear. 
 Beneath Miss Busby's very eyes she snatched up the 
 remaining biscuit and crammed it into her mouth before 
 the affronted governess could stop her. The map of 
 Italy was forgotten in this new instance of rank rebellion 
 that had to be dealt with summarily. The rest of the 
 morning passed like a nightmare with Peggy in the corner 
 and Miss Busby groaning over her neuralgia and the 
 miseries of her lot. When the gong went for lunch she 
 forgot to make Peggy wash her face and hands, and 
 Peggy forgot that the gash on her face needed attention. 
 She ran downstairs ahead of Miss Busby without realiz- 
 ing that her cut cheek, tear-stained eyes, and her dirty 
 pinafore were unpresentable. It was dreadful, because 
 there were guests to lunch: people who stared and
 
 30 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 smiled: while Father looked like thunder and Mother 
 came slowly towards the door and whispered angrily to 
 Miss Busby, who was just behind. Peggy heard enough 
 to know that she had done something awful again, and 
 that Miss Busby was trying to excuse herself. Then 
 Mother went back to her guests, and Peggy was pushed 
 out of the room. 
 
 "You are not to go in to lunch," said Miss Busby, 
 when she got outside the door. "You are to go back to 
 the schoolroom." 
 
 "But I'm dreadfully hungry," said Peggy. 
 
 "I can't help that," said Miss Busby, and went back 
 into the drawing-room. 
 
 Mrs. Butterfield, the cook-housekeeper, sat down to 
 rest a moment. She was a mountain of a woman ad- 
 vanced in years, and not as active as she had been. She 
 had lived with Mr. Twistleton's mother and then with him 
 before and after his first marriage, and she well remem- 
 bered the night of snow when Peggy's mother was turned 
 away. Right was right, and Peggy's mother had soon 
 married Major Coverdale, so there must have been some- 
 thing in it. Still, Mrs. Butterfield did not approve of 
 the second Mrs. Twistleton, although as a mistress she 
 was usually bearable". Not always. Her temper got the 
 better of her sometimes and then she would carry on 
 more like a fish- wife than a lady. All the maids knew 
 that, and Mr. Jordan himself came downstairs put out 
 occasionally. But luckily in these days servants who 
 know their work can take care of themselves. Mrs. 
 Twistleton was clever enough to know that, and never 
 went too far below stairs. Up above it was a different 
 matter. 
 
 "Mrs. Butterfield!" 
 
 The stout woman jumped and put her hand to her 
 heart. She had been nearly asleep, that she had, and
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 31 
 
 what was Miss Peggy doing here in the hall when she 
 ought to have been sitting upstairs at lunch ; and what 
 for goodness' sake had she done to her face to cut it like 
 that; and why had she been crying; and just look at her 
 pinafore ! 
 
 "I fell," said Peggy, staring at a large wart near Mrs. 
 Butterfield's nose that always fascinated her. It looked 
 as if a determined tweak would remove it any day. 
 
 "You fell. . . ." 
 
 Peggy nodded and did not speak. She was ashamed 
 to be a cry-baby at her age, but the tears welled into her 
 eyes again, and rolled down her cheeks. 
 
 "I'm hungry," she said with a sob. 
 
 Mrs. Butterfield asked no further questions. She could 
 put two and two together when the sum was presented 
 every day in slightly different guises. Miss Peggy had 
 been in disgrace again : had been in mischief, presumably. 
 
 "You know you are not allowed to come down here 
 begging for things to eat," she said severely. 
 
 Peggy turned red and went back towards the door. 
 
 "Now then . . . don't be off like a lamplighter," said 
 Mrs. Butterfield, whose analogies were often obscure and 
 whose diction was a stumbling-block to the genteel 
 amongst her colleagues. 
 
 "I'm not a beggar," said Peggy. "I don't care. I'll 
 wait till tea-time." 
 
 "Proud as a peacock. That's why you fell, I'll be 
 bound. Now wait a bit, my pet, and we'll see what we 
 can do. Why, here's Mr. Jordan with the chicken." 
 
 So there was: and before Peggy could pass him Mrs. 
 Butterfield had put a large comforting arm round her. 
 
 "The poor mite's got nowt inside her little wame," she 
 said to the butler. "I'm going to give her some meat." 
 
 "It's at your own risk if you do," said Jordan. "We 
 have our orders and you know what children are. They 
 tell tales."
 
 32 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 "I don't tell tales," cried Peggy indignantly. 
 
 "It's a shame, it is," continued Mrs. Butterfield. "Look 
 at her face!" 
 
 "It's my birthday," said Peggy. 
 
 "Who did that to your face?" asked Jordan. 
 
 "I broke a china cat and then I fell and a big piece 
 stuck up and cut me." 
 
 "Did you fall by yourself or did someone push you?" 
 asked Mrs. Butterfield, and nodded shrewdly at Jordan 
 when Peggy turned scarlet and did not answer. 
 
 "I thought as much," she said, and hobbling away on 
 two feet that seemed inadequate supports for so much 
 solid flesh, she fetched the child some chicken and 
 vegetables and set her down at the table to eat it. 
 
 "Don't choke yourself, but be as quick as you can," 
 she counseled; "and remember it's between you and me 
 and the post." 
 
 Peggy ate ravenously. 
 
 "The child's nothing but skin and bone," grumbled 
 Mrs. Butterfield. "Look at her! I'd be ashamed, I 
 would, if she was mine. But when the master is as blind 
 as Cupid and the missus sits at her window and tires 
 her head . . . you take my meaning?" 
 
 "I do," said Jordan, "but what I say to myself, not 
 to you, Mrs. Butterfield, is, Mind your own business." 
 
 "That's right enough as far as it goes," said the cook, 
 "but there's a limit to everything." 
 
 "Besides," said Jordan, "the child's mother was a slip 
 of a girl. That sort is born thin and dies thin."
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 DID you know my mother?" said Peggy, staring. 
 "Haven't we lived in the family this twenty 
 years?" said Mrs. Butterfield, in the vexed evasive 
 voice of one who knows that has been said which it had 
 been wiser not to say. " What'll you have now ? Some 
 raspberry cream, I think, as it's your birthday, and we're 
 making a day of it. As well be hung for a sheep as a 
 lamb if you must be hung at all. Here it conies, like the 
 pigeon that flew into Willie Wood's mouth when he was 
 star-gazing." 
 
 Mrs. Butterfield had gone outside and returned with a 
 plate on which there was a large helping of a delicious 
 pink cream that Peggy knew but had not often been 
 allowed to have. Flavored with raspberries it was, and 
 full of little banana chunks that tasted of raspberry as 
 well as of banana. The Princess always had it for her 
 wedding-breakfast when she married the Prince. Peggy 
 had been so sharpset that she had gobbled up her chicken 
 in no time, but she began upon the cream slowly so as 
 to make it last. 
 
 "Henry the Eighth had six wives," she began after a 
 ruminating pause. 
 
 "Solomon had hundreds and hundreds," said Mrs. But- 
 terfield. "Women must have been plentiful in those 
 days." 
 
 "They are now," said Jordan; "in heathen countries 
 a man can have as many wives as he wants." 
 
 "Solomon was no heathen," said Mrs. Butterfield. "It 
 never struck me before, but as a matter of fact he must 
 
 33
 
 34 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 have been a Jew, like that Mr. Cohen I was with before 
 I went to Mrs. Twistleton. Solomon was no heathen." 
 
 "Nor was Henry the Eighth," said Peggy; "he was a 
 religious man, but changeable. I wish. . . ." 
 
 "What you wish, ducky? . . . Some sponge-cake with 
 your cream . . . seeing as it's your birthday. . . ." 
 
 "A man can't behead his wife, nowadays, even if he 
 is king," continued Peggy, accepting the sponge-cake. 
 "At least, Miss Busby says so." 
 
 "Miss Busby is right," said Mrs. Butterfield. "A pretty 
 state of things it would be." 
 
 "The Turks sew 'em up in a sack," contributed Jordan, 
 and Peggy's eyes fixed themselves on him with interest. 
 "They sew 'em up in a sack and throw 'em in the 
 Bosphorus." 
 
 "Alive?" 
 
 "Alive or dead : what's it matter ? I'd as soon be 
 drowned as strangled. Wouldn't you?" 
 
 "I expect Hallinwater is as deep as the Bosphorus," 
 said Peggy. "It's very deep if you row out a little way. 
 I wish Father was a Turk." 
 
 "Bless us and save us, what next?" cried Mrs. Butter- 
 field, scandalized. "A Turk's no better than a heathen. 
 He can have a dozen wives if wives are his fancy." 
 
 "Well, Father has two," said Peggy. 
 
 "Never. It's not allowed in Christian countries." 
 
 "You mean they don't have two in the same house. 
 I wish they did. I wish my own mother was in this 
 house. Where is she, Mrs. Butterfield?" 
 
 "Not knowing, can't say." 
 
 "Is she alive?" 
 
 "That's enough, Miss Peggy. You well know that 
 we are forbidden to mention your mother's name. Ask 
 no questions and you'll get no stories told. You run 
 along back to the schoolroom this minute or there'll be 
 trouble. When Mr. Jordan takes in the coffee, as he is
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 35 
 
 commencing to do, Miss Busby goes upstairs. She is 
 probably on the way now." 
 
 "Did you ever hear of Eugene Aram, Mrs. Butter- 
 field?" 
 
 "Can't say as I have. Does he visit here?" 
 
 "He's deadr He murdered an old man." 
 
 "What did he want to do that for?" 
 
 "For gold. 
 
 'Two sudden blows with a ragged stick, 
 
 And one with a heavy stone, 
 
 One hurried gash with a hasty knife. . . .' " 
 
 "Now I won't have it, Miss Peggy, and that's flat," 
 cried the cook. "Teaching a child like you such horrors ! 
 Miss Busby ought to be ashamed of herself, and she may 
 know as I said so. 'What does little birdie say in her 
 nest at break of day ?' That's pretty. Or, 'The boy was 
 on the burning deck,' if you want something exciting. 
 I wonder you don't have a nightmare." 
 
 "I have to learn it as a punishment," explained Peggy. 
 "I hate it. Sometimes people murder children. They 
 get them away into lonely places and murder them. There 
 was one only the other day ... in a wood. . . ." 
 
 "Now who tells you any such tales?" exclaimed the 
 cook, taking the child upon her knee, for Peggy had 
 sidled closer and closer to her with wide-open eyes and 
 her voice choked with terror. 
 
 "Mother told me about that one," said Peggy, "but 
 she said I mustn't tell Mabel, or I would be whipped, so 
 I haven't, but I can't help thinking about it, because 
 Mother said probably the boy had been a nuisance and 
 was better out of the world than in it. And she did kill 
 the kitten when it scratched her. Miss Busby saw her 
 fling it into the water-butt. It made her heart have 
 palpitations. But she has never said anything about it 
 except to me. You won't tell, will you?" 
 
 "What on earth is the child chattering about?" said
 
 36 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 Mrs. Butterfield, holding Peggy closely to her in a kind, 
 comfortable way. ' 'Ding dong bell/ I know, and the 
 pussy in the well. 'Who pulled her out? Little Tommy 
 Trout.' But I never heard of any kitten being drowned, 
 as ought not to have been so treated. The young ones 
 have to be made away with or we'd all get eaten out 
 of house and home by cats, but they know nothing 
 about it." 
 
 "This was quite a big kitten," said Peggy. "It be- 
 longed to Ada Dixon. It was in the kitchen garden and 
 so was Mother. She picked it up and it scratched her, 
 so she flung it into the water-butt and let it drown. She 
 thought no one saw her, but Miss Busby was just behind 
 the shed and did see." 
 
 "Well, I never!" said Mrs. Butterfield. "So that's 
 what happened to Ada's kitten. And Dixon always blam- 
 ing one of the garden boys. In fact, he and Mr. Paterson 
 had words over it, and have hardly spoken since. I 
 never !" 
 
 "You won't tell, will you?" 
 
 "Not me. I've no wish to come to a bad end as all 
 tell-tales do. Now run along, Miss Peggy, and get ready 
 for your walk." 
 
 "I'm not to go for a walk. I've got to stay at home 
 and learn those horrid verses." 
 
 "Well, they won't take you long. You seem to know 
 them already. You've plenty of story-books, haven't 
 you ? Quick ! Up the back stairs. They're coming out 
 of the dining-room." 
 
 Peggy fled, and Mrs. Butterfield sat still in her easy- 
 chair until Jordan came in again. 
 
 "The more I think of Solomon, the less I like him," 
 said she to the surprised butler. "Wasn't it him who 
 said 'Spare the rod and spoil the child'? I presume 
 he had some caterwauling upstairs, with all those wives 
 about, but who asked him to marry them?"
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 37 
 
 "I don't hold with criticising biblical personages," said 
 Jordan stiffly. "If we once began no one knows where 
 we should end. Things were different in those days." 
 
 "He should have thought before he spoke," persisted 
 the cook, and then waddled upstairs to have her after- 
 noon nap. On her way she passed the schoolroom door 
 and listened there; but she could not hear a sound, so 
 she hoped that Peggy had been forgiven and taken out 
 for a walk. 
 
 But Peggy was not out. She was curled up in a corner 
 of the old horsehair sofa with her poetry book open on 
 her lap, and she was saying the four verses she had to 
 learn over and over again, shuddering at every horrid 
 line : afraid to remember, and still more afraid to forget. 
 She shut her eyes and saw the universal air lit with a 
 ghastly flame. That would be a blue flame, like snap- 
 dragon at Christmas, she supposed. She was not afraid 
 of snapdragon and had pulled out figs and dates until 
 Mother called her greedy and pushed her back. Mabel 
 had not put her hand in once, and Miss Busby had only 
 done so gingerly. But snapdragon flames only filled a 
 bowl and soon burned out. This flame filled the universal 
 air and in it there were ten thousand dreadful eyes: and 
 from the lifeless clay the blood gushed out when she 
 touched it. ... No, not she . . . Eugene Aram . . . 
 but some day if she committed a murder ... or if 
 someone found her tied to a tree and murdered her . . . 
 some horrid tramp ... no one would hear her scream 
 . . . the tarn was a long way from the house, "A slug- 
 gish water black as ink, the depth was so extreme." 
 Yet she loved the tarn better than any place in the 
 world . . . loved its silence and its mystery. She had 
 not told anyone, not even Mrs. Butterfield, what hap- 
 pened there the other day: because if she had not been 
 naughty and silly perhaps it would not have happened. 
 Besides, you never knew. If you told when you were
 
 38 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 strictly forbidden to you might be found out, and then 
 . . . Peggy had never been afraid of the tarn till Mother 
 saw her there one afternoon, when she ought to have 
 been with Miss Busby, and tied her to a tree with a 
 long scarf as a punishment for running away. Of course 
 she ought not to have run away, but Miss Busby had 
 been cross and Mabel tiresome. There was never anyone 
 cross and tiresome at the tarn. 
 
 It had got quite dark and cold before she was released, 
 and she had been tired with standing on her feet all that 
 time. At first she had thought she would not mind. 
 All the lovely trees, and plants that grew round the tarn, 
 the birds in the air, the fish flopping in and out of the 
 water, and the wild duck that had a nest on the little 
 island, and the wicked but beautiful heron that came to 
 eat the fish ... all these were her friends, and would 
 not hurt her; but it had been terrifying at the tarn when 
 the dark came. It was as if all your friends vanished 
 and your enemies came, especially thoughts. There was 
 the thought about the boy who had been decoyed into a 
 wood and murdered : and there was Mother's story of 
 the owl that had flown at someone and torn his cheek. 
 
 Peggy most particularly loved owls, the wise, soft 
 birds that flew by night and called to each other as you 
 went to sleep. She would have liked one for a pet : but 
 she was not allowed to have live pets. She wanted a 
 fox-terrier more than anything in the world, but Mother 
 said that Carlo might not like it, and that the fox-terrier 
 might not like Carlo. 
 
 Peggy knew her verses word for word now, but knew 
 with harrowing certainty that when she tried to repeat 
 them to her step-mother she would stumble and forget. 
 However, it was no use to waste more time on them, 
 and she went to the toy cupboard in search of amuse- 
 ment. Her eyes fell on the Polynesian idol lolling in a 
 corner, battered and limbless. She had an idea, and
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 39 
 
 when Peggy had an idea she acted on it without regard 
 to consequences. But the thing wanted a wig. Well, 
 you can make a wig of wool, and there was always wool 
 on the top shelf where Miss Busby kept her everlasting 
 crochet. Peggy got a chair, found a skein of black wool, 
 and cut it into short lengths. It made a thick wig: not 
 quite crinkled enough . . . but one can't have every- 
 thing. There must be a frock too ... a trailing one 
 . . . Mabel's new dressing-gown, made out of Mother's 
 old one. Peggy remembered Mother in it well. The 
 very flowers on it were associated with those painful and 
 humiliating moments when you discover how badly an 
 elegant shoe can hurt if vigorously applied. She fetched 
 it from Mabel's room, and draped it round the idol, 
 which she propped up in Miss Busby's easy-chair. Then 
 she stood in front of it with her back towards the door. 
 
 "Do you know your verses?" she asked, speaking for 
 the idol in a harsh voice. 
 
 "Yes, Mother," she squeaked in a falsetto meant to 
 counterfeit her own voice. 
 
 "Say them." 
 
 " 'Two sudden blows with a ragged stick, 
 And one with a heavy stone, 
 One hurried gash. . . .'" 
 
 Peggy had yet another idea. She picked up the long 
 ruler from the schoolroom table and took up her position 
 in front of the idol again. "Now then," she said threat- 
 eningly. 
 
 "Begin again," said the idol. 
 
 "I'm going to," said Peggy. "I'm going to say them 
 till you wish you'd never heard them, I am. I think I'll 
 begin at the beginning. No, I won't. I'll say to-day's 
 verses over and over again till I can't forget them even 
 when you stare at me. You're only Mumbo-Jumbo, but 
 you'll do."
 
 40 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 It was a fascinating game, satisfying both to body and 
 soul: at least it satisfied that angry corner of the soul 
 where Mother, but no one else, had her being. You 
 would have played a different game if you had wanted 
 Mumbo- Jumbo to be Mrs. Butterfield or Celia Aysgarth, 
 or even Mabel. 
 
 "What is all this?" said Father's voice just behind 
 her. He had come into the room with a strange man.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 "TYEGGY had not confined herself to recitation. She 
 had acted her dialogue and then danced in front 
 of her wooden image, hitting at it with the ruler. 
 Her own mop of hair was disheveled, her black-stock- 
 inged legs were as thin as drum-sticks, her face, when 
 she turned in terror at her father's voice, was colorless 
 and tear-stained. The gash made on it that morning 
 still needed attention. So did her hands. 
 
 "What a little ragamuffin!" thought Victor Gerard, 
 who was unmarried and knew nothing of children. "Why 
 don't they wash her and keep her tidy?" 
 
 "This is the little girl," said Mr. Twistleton. "Come 
 here, Peggy, and shake hands with Mr. Gerard. Don't 
 stand there staring like that. Why are you not at work? 
 I understood that you were kept in because you had 
 been naughty and had a lesson to learn." 
 
 "I've learnt it," said Peggy, answering her father but 
 fixing her eyes on his companion, whom she had heard 
 of but had never seen before. She saw that he was much 
 younger than her father and that he had a twinkle in his 
 eye and about his mouth. Just now his face was grave, 
 but you could see the twinkle all the same. It was there 
 a little when he looked at you and a little more when he 
 looked at Mumbo- Jumbo in her black wig and flowered 
 gown. He did not wait for you to walk right across the 
 room to him, but came forward, and took hold of the 
 hand you held out. He had a firm comfortable hand. 
 You liked the feel of it, and the sound of his voice. 
 
 "Were you rehearsing a part in a play?" he asked. 
 "Are you going to act in one? It looked rather like 
 
 41
 
 42 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 Punch and Judy, with you as Punch. Did you ever see 
 Punch and Judy?" 
 
 "What were you doing?" said Father harshly. 
 
 "I was saying my verses," you answered, and your 
 voice sounded nearly as silly and frightened as when you 
 were making believe. Father was not in the least like 
 Mother. He did not hurt you on purpose. But he was 
 always a long way off, and he never understood. Be- 
 sides, he believed whatever Mother said to him. 
 
 "What verses?" he asked. "Some that have been set 
 as a punishment, I suppose?" 
 
 You hung your head and felt so shy and miserable 
 that you did not speak. 
 
 "Answer when you are spoken to," said Father. 
 
 You began to cry. You are sure you would not have 
 done so if you had not cried before that day. But 
 everyone knows what it is. Begin a day badly and it 
 goes on badly. Tears in the morning, and ten to one 
 there will be tears in the afternoon. They seem to stay 
 close behind your eyes and come there even when you 
 are trying hard to keep them back. 
 
 "You see how it is," said Mr. Twistleton. "Sulky and 
 troublesome, I am sorry to say. My wife is the only 
 person who can manage her. You must think over it 
 before you accept, Victor. If you would rather not do 
 it I must try to find someone else. But of course I 
 should be very glad . . . and it may not come on you 
 for years. . . . What the . . . what is all this ?" 
 
 Mr. Twistleton's short-sighted eyes had only just dis- 
 covered the dressed-up figure in the chair: and he was 
 now examining it through his glasses with gathering 
 amazement and indignation. 
 
 "My wife's dressing-gown ... a black wig. . . ." 
 
 He turned suddenly on Peggy in a fury and shook her 
 there and then before Mr. Gerard, whom she had never 
 seen before.
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 43 
 
 "I saw you raining blows on it," he muttered. "You 
 abandoned child! Everything I am told about you is 
 true. What will become of you? I've a good mind to 
 send you straight out of the house. You are not fit to 
 be in it." 
 
 "But wasn't it Punch and Judy?" said Mr. Gerard, 
 and he contrived as he spoke to get between Mr. Twistle- 
 ton and the child. 
 
 "It was nothing of the kind. You don't understand 
 the enormity of the offense. You don't realize that she 
 has dressed up an image of my wife and was in the 
 act of delivering a murderous attack on it when we entered 
 the room. A child that can conceive such an idea and 
 carry it out is capable of anything." 
 
 Stated so, Peggy's conduct did sound bad, and Victor 
 Gerard looked at her inquiringly. He knew that he did 
 not understand children and he was sure that he disliked 
 them. This child had fine eyes and hair, but it looked 
 as frightened as a rabbit. Besides, it cried. Mr. Twistle- 
 ton had just asked him to be co-executor, with his wife, 
 of his will, and co-guardian of this child: and Victor 
 had accepted the post. As far as he knew, Mr. Twistle- 
 ton's life was still a good one. Probably the child would 
 be of age before her father died. If not, the office of 
 guardian would be more a matter of business than of 
 any personal relation. Peggy would naturally live with 
 her step-mother for years to come. So the situation 
 had presented itself downstairs in the tranquil and 
 decorous atmosphere of Mr. Twistleton's study. Up 
 here, it suddenly seemed changed. There might be 
 breakers ahead. Still, Victor would not have to navigate 
 them unless Mr. Twistleton died unexpectedly: and he 
 had more or less given his word. Besides, he was not 
 going to back out because a child of nine was trouble- 
 some. He would like to know a little more about her. 
 
 "I'm afraid I must go," said Mr. Twistleton; "I want
 
 44 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 to get that letter off to Barnes & Norton by to-day's 
 post. Are you coming, Victor?" 
 
 "In one moment, sir," said the younger man, and 
 stopped behind. When the door shut he took Peggy on 
 his knee. 
 
 "Stop crying !" he said, and Peggy stopped and stared. 
 She liked sitting on Victor's knee. She liked the feel 
 of his arm round her and the tone of his voice, even 
 when it came short and sharp as it did just now. You 
 obeyed it, but you did not obey with hate inside you : 
 and if you were afraid it was the kind of fear that makes 
 you want to please the person inspiring it. 
 
 "What were you doing when we came in ?" said Victor, 
 as soon as he thought the child could speak. 
 
 "I was saying my verses." 
 
 "What verses?" 
 
 "I have four to learn because I broke the china cat, 
 and I shall have to say them to Mother this afternoon, 
 and I always forget, however well I know them, and 
 then. . . ." 
 
 "No crying/' said Victor in a hard voice, that some- 
 how helped you not to cry: for though his voice was 
 hard his arm round you was kind. 
 
 "I thought I'd pretend Mumbo-Jumbo was Mother and 
 say them over to her and then perhaps I shouldn't for- 
 get." 
 
 "So you dressed up Mumbo-Jumbo in that gown and 
 that wig to make believe?" 
 
 "Ye-es." 
 
 "But why were you beating it?" 
 
 "She beats me." 
 
 Victor's inclination was to sheer away as quickly as 
 possible from a confidence he did not wish to receive and 
 which laid a charge he could not examine. Children 
 were naughty the world over. He had lately smacked 
 one of his little nephews himself, and his sister had only
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 45 
 
 half liked it. But he meant to do it again if necessary. 
 Spoilt children were a torment to themselves and every- 
 one else. 
 
 "I expect you deserve it," he said, speaking lightly. 
 
 "I expect I do," sighed Peggy ; "but it hurts." 
 
 "How old are you?" 
 
 "Nine. To-day's my birthday." 
 
 "Your birthday ! You seem to be having a merry time. 
 Where are your presents?" 
 
 Peggy snuggled close to the young man's tweed coat 
 and told him the story of the china cat and the mis- 
 fortunes ensuing. 
 
 "I did not break it on purpose," she assured him, and 
 by this time her arm was round his neck and her cheek 
 on his shoulder. 
 
 "So you've had no presents!" he said sadly, but there 
 was still the twinkle in his eye. 
 
 "I've had one," explained Peggy, and she got off his 
 knee for a moment to show him the big doll wearing the 
 black tam-o'-shanter that Miss Busby had made for it. 
 
 "Are you fond of dolls? Do you want another?" 
 asked Victor. 
 
 Peggy shook her head and climbed on his knee again. 
 
 "I feel too old for them," she said. "Mabel doesn't, 
 but I do. I never did care much for dolls. Don't you 
 think they are rather silly?" 
 
 "What do you want most for your birthday ?" 
 
 "The fox-terrier." 
 
 "What fox-terrier?" 
 
 "The one that Dixon would have sold me if I had had 
 my birthday sovereign. He promised me the pick of the 
 litter." 
 
 "When will they come?" 
 
 "I don't know. Not yet, Dixon says." 
 
 "Would you be allowed to have one?" 
 
 "I don't know."
 
 46 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 "Shall I ask? Shall I send you one that has been 
 trained and is old enough to run about with you? I 
 say . . . steady now . . . you mustn't crumple my col- 
 lar. Will chocolates do if dogs are not admitted?" 
 
 Peggy nodded her head blissfully. "But I'd rather 
 have a dog," she said. "He would be my very own, 
 wouldn't he? I shouldn't have to share him with Mabel." 
 
 "Your very own from the tip of his nose to the end 
 of his tail. What will you call him if he comes?" 
 
 "What are you called ?" 
 
 "Victor." 
 
 "But I won't call him that," mused Peggy. "It might 
 be rather confusing when you come to see us: and it 
 wouldn't sound polite. I think I'll call him Dingo after 
 yellow dog Dingo in the story." 
 
 "But he won't be yellow if he is a fox-terrier." 
 
 "I can pretend he is yellow," argued Peggy, so Victor 
 left it at that. 
 
 "Where do you live?" she asked him. 
 
 "In Manchester at present." 
 
 "I lived there once." 
 
 "I know." 
 
 "I remember it. I remember my own Mother a little." 
 
 "Do you?" 
 
 "Yes. I wish she would come back : but Mrs. Butter- 
 field says this is a Christian country and that a man 
 can't have two wives. It's a pity." 
 
 "Who is Mrs. Butterfield?" 
 
 "She is our cook-housekeeper. I'm very fond of her. 
 She gave me some chicken and raspberry cream to-day 
 because I was hungry: but don't tell anyone. It was 
 as much as her place was worth to do it. She said so." 
 
 "Why weren't you at lunch? I saw you come in and 
 then disappear." 
 
 "Mother sent me upstairs. She said I was a dis- 
 graceful object and that Miss Busby ought not to have
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 47 
 
 taken me down. Miss Busby cried about it just before 
 she went out and said she had never been spoken to so 
 in her life, and that it was all my fault for running 
 downstairs without washing my face and hands. I expect 
 I had better wash them before she comes back or she 
 will be upset again." 
 
 "I expect you had," said Victor. "They want it: and 
 I'm off now. I have a train to catch." 
 "When will you come again?" 
 "I've no idea. Some day, if you're good." 
 It was distressing to see him go and hear the door 
 shut behind him. Peggy wished she could have gone 
 with him. She turned drearily to Mumbo-Jumbo and 
 divested it of the wig and the dressing-gown. The wig 
 she burned. The dressing-gown she put back in Mabel's 
 room. Then she washed her face and hands: but the 
 cut on her face hurt her, and still looked red and angry. 
 She wished now that Victor had not seen her so grubby 
 and disfigured. She wondered he had wanted her to sit 
 on his knee and put her arm round his neck. The school- 
 room seemed emptier than usual when she went back to 
 it. Her birthday would soon be over now, but before it 
 was over she would have to go downstairs. 
 
 "For every clot a burning spot 
 Was scorching in my brain." 
 
 "What are you droning to yourself?" said Miss Busby's 
 high complaining voice. "Do you mean to say that you've 
 not learned those verses yet? Mabel and I have been 
 out nearly two hours, and you've had nothing else to do." 
 
 "I have," said Peggy. "I've had visitors." 
 
 "Visitors! What do you mean?" 
 
 "Father brought Mr. Gerard up here." 
 
 "Whatever for?" said Mabel. 
 
 "Father went away, but Mr. Gerard stayed a long 
 time."
 
 48 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 "I like Mr. Gerard," said Mabel. "I sat next to him 
 at lunch. I wish I hadn't gone out." 
 
 "I sat on his knee," said Peggy triumphantly. "He's 
 very clean. His neck smelt of soap." 
 
 "I hope you were clean yourself," said Miss Busby. 
 
 "I wasn't," said Peggy, "but he didn't seem to mind. 
 He let me put my head on his shoulder. I made a little 
 finger-mark on his collar at the back, but I don't think 
 anyone would notice it. He is going to give me a fox- 
 terrier, if they will let me have one."
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE fox-terrier had arrived and was everything 
 that a fox-terrier ought to be in Peggy's opinion. 
 He had a pointed nose and a black patch over 
 one eye. He had several other black patches, one just 
 over his tail. He was like the fox-terrier in "The Dog's 
 Day," a treasure of a book that Celia Aysgarth possessed 
 and Peggy coveted. She meant to buy it if ever she 
 had any pocket-money, but she never did have any. 
 There were no shops nearer than Senwick, and she never 
 went to Senwick, so she did not miss money much as 
 a rule. Dingo knew that he belonged to Peggy and when 
 she was dressing to go out he jumped all over her and 
 barked with excitement. He had a lovely bark. It 
 seemed to talk to Peggy and say pleasant, friendly things 
 such as she said to him. He was a very young dog 
 with a great deal to learn in the world, and out of doors 
 he tried to catch birds. He did catch flies and once he 
 caught a trout in a beck. No one would believe this, 
 but Peggy had seen it in his mouth and shouted at him 
 because she felt sorry for the trout. When she was at 
 lessons he snuggled at her feet as good as gold, and 
 sometimes blinked at her with his little varminty eyes. 
 Every day Peggy brushed and combed him, for he was 
 a wire-haired fox-terrier and looked lovely when he had 
 just been brushed. She was not allowed to wash him 
 because Miss Busby said she would make such a mess 
 if she tried. Dixon did that outside, and carried him 
 to the back door in his arms so that he could not roll 
 and get dirty again before Peggy saw him. Dixon was 
 
 49
 
 50 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 a kind man and fancied dogs himself, and he did not 
 mind Peggy having Dingo instead of one of the puppies 
 that had not arrived yet: especially after she told him 
 of her disappointment about the birthday sovereign. 
 Peggy was not supposed to let Dingo sleep in her room 
 at night: nor was she allowed to have him when she 
 had been naughty. That embargo made life more diffi- 
 cult than ever, because when she offended Dingo suffered 
 with her. When she was in disgrace he was shut up 
 in a dark housemaid's cupboard where Peggy could hear 
 him scratch and whine. So for his sake, as well as for 
 her own, she tried to keep the law : but she never suc- 
 ceeded for long. 
 
 Clever as Dingo was, he did not understand every- 
 thing. He never learned that he must not growl at 
 Mother when she went near his basket, or slink out of 
 reach when she called him. Besides, he hated cats with 
 such a fierce hatred that he tried to kill them, and 
 although Mrs. Twistleton had drowned a kitten, and said 
 she hated pet animals, she kept Carlo in the house be- 
 cause he caught mice. There had been one dreadful 
 round already between Carlo and Dingo. It happened 
 before Peggy knew what Dingo's feelings were about 
 cats, and she had let him follow her downstairs one day 
 after tea. He had made one swift pounce at Carlo, and 
 fastened his teeth in the cat's neck. Carlo had spit and 
 scratched and fizzled like fireworks. Peggy had rushed 
 at Dingo and lifted him up, although Carlo came too 
 and clawed at her. Luckily Dingo had not taken hold 
 of much except fur, so the cat dropped by its own weight 
 and fled to the top of a bookcase, where it sat spitting 
 and swearing while Dingo danced and yelped with rage 
 below. Mother had been deadly quiet while the battle 
 lasted, and she did not stir to help Peggy even when she 
 was being scratched. But directly it was over she sent 
 Peggy and Dingo upstairs and said that Dingo should
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 51 
 
 be thrown into the lake with a stone round his neck if it 
 happened again. 
 
 Luckily the schoolroom wing was shut off from the 
 rest of the house by a heavy baize door, and as long as 
 this was shut Dingo was safe: but Peggy, who knew 
 how quick he was, lived in fear of his escape through 
 it. She told all the servants about the danger he ran 
 and several times one of them brought him back to her. 
 They all liked him, and Mrs. Butterfield often saved a 
 bone for him. Miss Busby said he was too noisy for 
 her taste, and left white hairs on her chair where he 
 had no business to go, but did go when everyone was 
 out of the room. Besides, one day he found her ball 
 of wool on the floor and played like a kitten with it, 
 and tried to eat the beginning of a jumper that she was 
 going to crochet. She had to put it in the fire, and her 
 neuralgia came on because she was so upset. Peggy was 
 very sorry about it, and would have bought her some 
 new wool if only she had had the money. Mabel took 
 no interest in Dingo, and Peggy was glad of that. She 
 wanted him all to herself. She loved him more than 
 anything in the world, and he loved her. She talked to 
 him indoors and ran races with him out of doors, and 
 threw sticks for him into the lake because he could not 
 see water without wanting to swim in it. There never 
 had been a dog that loved water and loathed cats as 
 Dingo did : but his rules of conduct with regard to them 
 were made by himself or by his ancestors, and were not 
 all that Peggy wished. They were topsy-turvy. He 
 would dance about close to the water and bark at it: 
 and when he was in the boat on Low Tarn he gave 
 short shrill yelps that split your ears: but he never went 
 in until Peggy threw a stick or gave him a little push 
 overboard. How convenient it would have been if he 
 had acted towards cats in the same docile way ! But 
 the sight and sound of a cat drove everything out of
 
 52 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 Dingo's mind except the unfortunate conviction that he 
 must live and the cat must not. He waited for no per- 
 mission in sight of the enemy. He gave tongue and 
 pounced. When the cat was plucky and experienced 
 Dingo got scratched for his pains and no harm was done. 
 But Peggy shivered to think of what would happen if 
 he met a kitten or a coward. Luckily she could give 
 him plenty of exercise without taking him near the cot- 
 tages on the property or the farms outside it : and when 
 they went beyond the garden on the fell side he could 
 hunt rabbits and enjoy himself as much as he did in 
 the water. Sometimes Miss Busby let her take him for 
 a scamper while she herself walked with Mabel along 
 the high road: and Peggy loved that. He was so busy 
 and lively that she had to attend to him and forget 
 about people cut off unseen and hid in sudden graves. 
 There were no caves on the fell side where she mostly 
 went, but there were enormous rabbit-holes. Dingo 
 would get stuck sometimes and she had to tug at him 
 to help him out: and when he did come out he was 
 an object and so was she. As a rule it did not matter 
 much. The light earth he sent back on her in showers 
 could be mostly shaken off before she went indoors: and 
 generally she could steal in by the back way and tidy 
 herself in time for the schoolroom tea. Of course if 
 she came across Mother she was made to feel a miser- 
 able sinner: but if she met Father he did not know 
 whether she was tidy or untidy. He took very little 
 notice of her as a rule. But one day that summer she 
 had the surprise of her life, for she met him walking 
 slowly along the grass path on the fell side and he 
 stopped to speak to her. 
 
 "Why are you not with Miss Busby and Mabel?" he 
 asked, but his manner and voice were not angry. 
 
 "They have gone to the cottages," said Peggy. 
 
 "Why didn't you go with them?"
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 53 
 
 "There are cats at the cottages." 
 
 "Don't you like cats, then?" 
 
 "I don't mind them, but if Dingo saw one he would 
 try to kill it." 
 
 Mr. Twistleton sat down on a flat rock and weighed 
 with both his hands on his oak stick. He had been told 
 so constantly that Peggy was a stupid, perverse child 
 and had seen her so everlastingly in disgrace that he had 
 come to believe there was a good deal amiss with her. 
 What else could be expected, since she was the image of 
 her mother? Daphne had not been stupid till she met 
 Major Coverdale; she had not exactly been perverse, 
 perhaps : but she must have had perversity in her. Five 
 years in the memory of a man of his age is not a very 
 long time and he still thought of her bitterly. At least 
 he did as a rule. Sometimes lately his thoughts would 
 drift back to the early days of their marriage when he 
 had seen her as fresh as the morning, and as young as 
 spring amongst her books and flowers. Till her child 
 came, the surprising change in her life had bewildered 
 her. She had lost some of her high spirits. But when 
 Peggy was born she gave herself up to her child happily 
 and completely. Mr. Twistleton had felt quite secure 
 in his marriage, partly because from his point of view 
 Daphne had done extremely well for herself. To this 
 day he could not see what she had gained by leaving 
 him. Coverdale had money, he understood, but not over 
 much. He was dead now and Daphne was presumably 
 alone in the world. He wondered if she ever thought 
 of her child. Peggy looked very small and young still. 
 There was that in Mr. Twistleton's mind this afternoon 
 that softened his heart towards her. She had a scared 
 glance in her eyes in spite of the devilment that lighted 
 them: and she kept out of his reach instead of running 
 towards him. 
 
 "You look as if you had been down rabbit- holes with
 
 54 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 the dog," said Mr. Twistleton, but he did not speak un- 
 kindly, and Peggy, recognizing this, sidled towards him. 
 Dingo had run off to explore a low, loosely-built 
 boundary wall dividing the fell side from a plantation 
 of young larches belonging to Beda Close. 
 
 "I can see two squirrels," she said, pointing to one of 
 the taller trees. "Can you see them?" 
 
 "Not without my spectacles," said Mr. Twistleton. 
 "My eyes are not as young as yours." 
 
 Peggy wondered how old her father was, but she knew 
 it was not polite to ask old people their age. For some 
 reason she could not understand, they did not like it. 
 Once when Miss Busby had a birthday she had asked 
 her how old she was and Miss Busby had told her she 
 was the rudest child she had ever seen. Peggy did not 
 wish to be rude, but how were you to know things ? Celia 
 Aysgarth did not mind being asked her age. She was 
 nine, like Peggy. 
 
 "Celia Aysgarth teaches the squirrels to come in at 
 the schoolroom window and eat nuts," she said to her 
 father. "She says if ever I go there she will let me see 
 them. We shall have to sit as quiet as mice and then 
 they will come." 
 
 "Have you never been to Tirril House, then?" said 
 her father. 
 
 "No, never," said Peggy, with a sigh. "Mabel has 
 been often." 
 
 "Haven't you been asked?" 
 
 "Yes, I'm always asked. I should like to go and see 
 the squirrels. I should like to teach them to come into 
 our schoolroom." 
 
 "Well, why don't you?" 
 
 "Nuts," said Peggy ; "they eat tons of nuts and they 
 leave the shells about. I'm afraid Miss Busby would say 
 they made a mess. She doesn't like Dingo much because
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 55 
 
 of his hairs. I expect the squirrels wouldn't like Dingo 
 either." 
 
 "You seem very fond of that dog," said Mr. Twistle- 
 ton, for Dingo had left the wall now and made a rush 
 into Peggy's lap. 
 
 "I love him more than anything in the world," said 
 Peggy, cuddling his wriggling little body to her, and 
 allowing his pink tongue to respond with affection. 
 
 "I suppose you don't remember your own mother?" 
 
 "I do," said Peggy, her whole frame tense with excite- 
 ment. "Indeed I do." 
 
 "What can you remember ? You were only three years 
 old when she . . . when she died." 
 
 "I remember heaps of things . . . the color of her 
 frock and the feel of her when I sat on her knee . . . 
 and her voice, and eyes and hair." 
 
 "She didn't always wear the same frock." 
 
 "I remember one. It was blue, rather a dark blue 
 like cornflowers, and it had silver threads in it, and she 
 wore a diamond heart. ... I saw the heart the other 
 day." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "Mother wore it." Peggy's voice changed as she an- 
 swered her father, and Mr. Twistleton noted the change. 
 She had turned scared and half-sulky, as he had often 
 seen her in his second wife's presence; but before he 
 spoke the expression passed, and she looked up again. 
 
 "Why do you say my own mother died?" she asked, 
 and Mr. Twistleton felt taken aback. He did not know 
 how much Peggy had been told of the true state of 
 affairs. His orders had been given, but who can control 
 the tongues of busybodies and fools ? 
 
 "I mean that she died to you and me," he said stiffly. 
 
 "Was she married to you?" 
 
 "Of course."
 
 56 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 "Did you divorce her . . . like Catharine of Aragon ?" 
 
 To hear a child of nine talk of divorce made Mr. 
 Twistleton jump, until the introduction of Catharine of 
 Aragon's name reminded him that Henry VIII.'s matri- 
 monial advantures were as well known in schoolrooms 
 as fairy tales. 
 
 "There was a divorce," he admitted. 
 
 "Will she ever come back?" 
 
 "Certainly not. She married a Major Coverdale, and 
 is now a widow." 
 
 "Can't I go to her?" 
 
 "Not till you are sixteen." 
 
 "She is alive, then?" 
 
 "I believe so." 
 
 But at nine you cannot look forward to what you will 
 do when you are sixteen. It seems a long way off, and 
 in fact it is. 
 
 "Why can't I go now?" she asked her father, and 
 wondered why Mr. Twistleton looked at her so oddly. 
 
 "I'm afraid I can't explain all that to you yet," he 
 said, getting up and beginning to walk towards home. 
 He walked slowly as if he was tired, and once on the 
 way back he sat down to rest again.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 A GARDEN-PARTY at Beda Close was in full 
 swing. Lawn-tennis was being played on the grass 
 courts and on the cinder one. A croquet match 
 was in progress on the croquet lawn. Indoors and out 
 of doors guests were eating and drinking and looking 
 at each other's clothes. Mr. Twistleton, the picture of 
 depression and bodily failure, tried to do his duty as 
 host, and Mrs. Twistleton looked as gorgeous as a por- 
 trait by Titian, in a color that was neither brown nor 
 red, but reminded you of autumn. She did not suit the 
 countryside, someone said of her this afternoon, and it 
 was true. Her slow, lazy walk, her derisive glance, hr 
 clothes that made everyone else's clothes look clumsy, 
 and her curious inanimate eyes all suggested interiors 
 worlds away from a highly respectable house in a highly 
 respectable neighborhood. But her guests found, as her 
 housemates did, that although she moved slowly, she 
 moved with a purpose and had her eyes everywhere. 
 To some she was considerate : to others ruthless. Poor 
 Miss Busby had put on her Sunday frock, a heavily-made 
 khaki-colored linen that in juxtaposition to her sallow 
 complexion was far from attractive. With it she wore 
 a cheap but jaunty panama hat, and you wondered when 
 you looked at her why she had been fool enough to 
 buy it. Mrs. Twistleton allowed her to make an appear- 
 ance with her two pupils, both dressed in white, and then 
 told her to take them and two other children who were 
 present to a remote spot in the grounds where there was 
 a game of Spiral Pole, and keep them there. 
 
 57
 
 ,58 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 "Do you mean all the afternoon?" Miss Busby had 
 asked. 
 
 "Yes," said Mrs. Twistleton. "I can't do with children 
 here." 
 
 So Miss Busby moved off, sad at heart because these 
 instructions blighted her hopes of conversing with Mr. 
 Crabbe, an elderly curate for whom she cherished a hope- 
 less passion. She had imagined herself finding him rather 
 lonely, bringing him tea and cakes, talking to him first 
 of airy trifles, and then perhaps of better things. But 
 alas, for the gulf that separates reality from imagination ! 
 He had a cup of tea in his hand and was talking to 
 General and Mrs. Aysgarth when she passed close to 
 him leading her flock. The two men took their hats 
 off with perfunctory politeness, Mrs. Aysgarth said a 
 pleasant word or two, and the episode was over for the 
 afternoon. Miss Busby felt quite wicked and rebellious, 
 but she could do nothing. The children, too, were dis- 
 appointed. Mabel did not want to be conducted so far 
 from the refreshments. Her idea of enjoyment at a 
 party was to find a quiet corner and stoke steadily. 
 There were strawberries and cream to be had this after- 
 noon, and little iced cakes and peaches from Liverpool. 
 The two strange children felt shy. Peggy had Dingo 
 with her on a lead and was having one of those pro- 
 longed dialogues with him in which she spoke his part 
 as well as her own, and had neither eyes nor ears for 
 anyone else. 
 
 "I know what we'll do," said Mabel. "We'll go in 
 the kitchen garden." 
 
 "Your mother said you were all to play Spiral Pole," 
 said Miss Busby. 
 
 "Mother won't care what we do, as long as we keep 
 out of her way," argued Mabel, who was capable of 
 considerable shrewdness where her own interests were 
 concerned. "There is a nice sunny seat in the kitchen
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 59 
 
 garden for you, Buzzie, and the gooseberries are ripe. 
 We'll gather some for you as well as for ourselves." 
 
 "You'll make such a mess of your clothes," said Miss 
 Busby, greatly tempted. 
 
 "No, we sha'n't. The nets have been taken off for the 
 afternoon, so there'll be no scrambling; and gooseberries 
 are not as squashy as strawberries or raspberries. I 
 hate that damp, dark corner near the Spiral Pole, and 
 there are no seats there." 
 
 "I hate it too," admitted Miss Busby, uncertain what 
 to do. It was just like Mrs. Twistleton to have bundled 
 them off to the dreariest corner of the garden, and 
 Mabel's proposal was sensible and alluring. She could 
 sit in a sunny corner and think of Mr. Crabbe, while the 
 children made themselves happy amongst the gooseberry 
 bushes. If her charges tore their frocks she must mend 
 them. 
 
 "You must be very careful," she said to all four. 
 "You will be seen again at the end of the afternoon, 
 and it would never do if you were not clean and tidy." 
 
 "There won't be a wrinkle on any of us, I promise 
 you," said Mabel. 
 
 Miss Busby knew that Mabel was a child who con- 
 stantly and easily promised what she could not perform : 
 but the kitchen garden door stood open, and the sun 
 was shining there. Miss Busby found a warm delicious 
 seat, close to some lavender bushes, soon felt drowsy, 
 shut her eyes, and never noticed that Peggy had escaped 
 with Dingo. 
 
 Peggy liked gooseberries, but she liked being on Low 
 Tarn still better, and for some days she had not had a 
 chance of escape; in fact, she had not been out by 
 herself since she had met her father on the fell side, and 
 he had spoken to her of her mother. She had told no 
 one about this talk except Dingo, and she had only been 
 able to tell him at odd moments, and when they were
 
 60 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 by themselves: but the discovery that her mother was 
 alive had stirred the child to the depths. Her father 
 believed it and he must surely know. He had told her 
 that she could go to her mother in seven years, but seven 
 years is an interminable time. Peggy had made a sum 
 of it in days, and every day would be as long as yesterday 
 or to-morrow. To-day was lasting a long while, but so 
 far it had not been unpleasant. She had got on better 
 than usual with her lessons this morning, and at lunch 
 Mother had been occupied with Mr. Barnes, who was 
 staying in the house. Miss Busby said he was father's 
 solicitor, but Peggy did not know what that meant. He 
 lived in Manchester and had little girls of his own, he 
 told Peggy; and he had been rather kind to her. After 
 lunch Miss Busby had said they were not to have their 
 usual walk, as they must keep fresh for the fatigues of 
 the afternoon, and that she would like a nap; so Mabel 
 and Peggy had played Demon Patience and Peggy had 
 won. Then they had put on their best white frocks and 
 hats and gone downstairs. Peggy had scrubbed her hands 
 and brushed her nails most carefully, because at lunch 
 she had seen Mr. Barnes look at her hands, and when 
 she looked herself they were not quite as clean as his 
 were. Grown-up people never seemed to have any diffi- 
 culty with their hands : at least those who came to lunch 
 did not. Paterson's hands were always ingrained with 
 dirt, and Dixon's were dirty when he was cleaning the 
 car, but they could not help it, so it would not be polite 
 to look at them. Peggy had tried hard to keep clean 
 herself ever since Mr. Gerard had found her all tear- 
 stained and grubby. He had said he would come again, 
 and she wanted him to find her looking as she did to-day, 
 in her new white frock and best hat. If he were to 
 come to-day and she put her arm round his neck she 
 would not leave a mark on his collar. She wished he 
 would come. She had written him a letter to thank him
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 61 
 
 for Dingo, but she wanted to thank him by word of 
 mouth too. 
 
 While Peggy considered these matters she got into the 
 boat on the tarn with Dingo and rowed to the end where 
 there were no weeds. His yelps had been earn-splitting 
 till he was in the water, but now he was paddling close 
 to her with a stick in his mouth and bliss in his eyes. 
 This was very well, but sooner or later she must beach 
 the boat, and what would happen then? He would be 
 all over her clean frock, barking shrilly and wanting 
 her to throw a fresh stick into the water. He never 
 knew when he had enough sticks and enough water, and 
 she could only get him away by walking away herself 
 and calling him. He would come then, sure enough, and 
 jump up at her. What a dilemma she was in again! 
 She saw now that she ought to have stayed in the kitchen 
 garden with the other children, and kept her frock clean. 
 But if she sent Dingo to the other end of the tarn she 
 might land quickly and then keep him off with an oar 
 till he quieted down. That seemed the best thing to do, 
 so she shipped her oars, snatched at a stick floating within 
 reach, stood up to throw it as far as she could, over- 
 balanced in the act and flopped into the water. She 
 had done this once before, and was not much afraid 
 of drowning. There were mud holes; but in most places 
 the tarn was only two feet deep and she was not far 
 from shore, but the water enveloped and bewildered her 
 for a moment, and it seemed to her as if it took a long 
 time to scramble to her knees and then to her feet. 
 Victor Gerard tearing through the trees to her help got 
 a picture of the streaming, red-headed child rising from, 
 the water, of the drifting boat, the swimming dog, the 
 sub-tropical growth of bamboos and big-leaved aquatic 
 plants, making a thicket on the opposite side of the tam, 
 and of a mountain ash amongst other trees behind, with 
 its berries beginning to turn red.
 
 62 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 "Don't come in and get wet!" shouted Peggy, walking 
 slowly towards him. 
 
 "I thought you were drowning," he said. "I saw you 
 tumble in." 
 
 She reached the shore and shivered. Dingo reached 
 the shore too, and crouched, guarding his stick between 
 his paws and looking at her patiently. 
 
 "What am I to do?" she said in bleak despair. 
 
 "Go home and put on dry things," said Victor. 
 
 "But I can't go home without being seen." 
 
 "You can't stay here." 
 
 "But I was to keep myself clean and tidy. This is 
 my best frock." 
 
 She looked up at Victor to find out what he thought 
 of the situation, but she was not old enough to interpret 
 the humorous twinkle in his eyes that gave away the 
 severe mask of his face. 
 
 "Come along," he said. "You'll have to put up with 
 a second-best frock for the rest of the day. If you 
 dawdle here you'll get a chill." 
 
 Before he had finished speaking, and before he could 
 stop her, Peggy had made a rush into the water again, 
 followed by Dingo, barking with excitement. 
 
 "Come back !" shouted Victor in his most raucous 
 parade voice. 
 
 "I must get the boat!" called Peggy, and he watched 
 her wade out, get hold of it and bring it ashore. When 
 it grounded he beached it for her, while she took Dingo's 
 slippery body in her arms, but found she was trembling 
 too violently with chill and shock to hold him. 
 
 "Could you carry Dingo?" she said to Victor. 
 
 "I could not," said Victor. "I'm going to the garden- 
 party." 
 
 Her teeth were chattering with cold now, but Dingo's 
 safety was of paramount importance. To Victor's sur- 
 prise she sat down amidst the long coarse* grass that
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 63 
 
 grew here and began to fumble with one of her shoe- 
 laces. 
 
 "What the . . . didn't I tell you to come back to the 
 house at once?" he cried, seizing her by one arm and 
 pulling her to her feet. 
 
 "But I want to make a lead for Dingo with my shoe- 
 lace," she argued. "I had one, but I must have left it 
 in the kitchen garden. Have you any string?" 
 
 "I have not." 
 
 "You have a cravat . . . but perhaps you would rather 
 not take it off?" 
 
 "I would much rather not. We'll keep an eye on 
 Dingo. Come along at once now. I shall be late for the 
 party as it is, and by the time you have changed your 
 things it will be over." 
 
 "I expect I shall have to go to bed," said Peggy with 
 dreary premonition. 
 
 "It would be the best place for you," said Victor, and 
 signed to her to go ahead of him in a narrow path they 
 were approaching. Their progress was necessarily slow 
 because Peggy's wet clothes hung like lead on her: but 
 as they went they talked of Dingo and his manifold 
 perfections. She found that Victor had a fox-terrier 
 called Toby, but rats were Toby's enemies, rather than 
 cats. They agreed that this was a more convenient 
 idiosyncrasy, for few people cherished rats. 
 
 "Have you brought him with you ?" asked Peggy. 
 
 "No, I left him in Manchester," said Victor. 
 
 "Why did you? He might have made friends with 
 Dingo and told him that rats were interesting. Perhaps 
 if we could catch a rat and show it to Dingo. . . . Are 
 you staying with us ?" 
 
 "No. I'm staying at the Hallinwater Hotel. I walked 
 along the lake and over the hause to-day. That's why 
 I came past the tarn and saw you pitch into it." 
 
 "May I come with you till we get to the path that
 
 64 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 leads to the back door? I'll go that way and you can go 
 on to the party. We shall be able just to see the people 
 at the corner where that path joins this one: but they 
 won't see us. I expect you'd be ashamed to be seen 
 with me." 
 
 "I should be proud to be seen with you. You'd be a 
 unique object at a garden-party. If we appeared there 
 together we should be the cynosure of every eye." 
 
 "The what?" said Peggy. "I believe you're laughing 
 at me." 
 
 "Do you mind being laughed at?" 
 
 "Not when it's you. Your eyes are always laughing. 
 I once saw an elephant." 
 
 "Did you, and was it laughing?" 
 
 "No ; but its eyes were rather like yours. This is the 
 place. If you stoop down and peep through those bushes 
 you can see the house and all the people. I can see 
 Mother. . . ." 
 
 "Well, good-by," said Victor. "Hurry on and take 
 off your wet things." 
 
 "Dingo!" cried Peggy. "I must carry Dingo!" And 
 before Victor could stop her she had rushed after the 
 dog. He followed her along the broad path leading to 
 the front of the house and saw her catch Dingo in full 
 view of the astonished people assembled there.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 PEGGY and Victor arrived together on the big lawn 
 in front of the house, the lawn on which most of 
 the seats were placed and where Mr. and Mrs. 
 Twistleton were both standing near groups of their 
 guests. Jordan and his assistants were carrying trays 
 with strawberries and cream ; the sun was shining, smart 
 sunshades were unfurled, a golden haze veiled the fells 
 and the light sparkled on every ripple of the water. 
 Till Peggy arrived all was going well : but she brought 
 catastrophe with her. It was startling enough to see her 
 emerge, a pitiable little creature, dripping wet, pallid 
 with fright and chill, and nursing a slippery fox-terrier, 
 as the Duchess nursed the pig: but that shock was suc- 
 ceeded by another when the fox-terrier gave a frenzied 
 yelp, escaped from her arms, and flashed across the lawn 
 like a streak of lightning. Peggy dashed after him as 
 well as she could in her clinging clothes, and Victor went 
 after her, lifting his hat to Mrs. Twistleton as he passed 
 by. A good many people followed to see what was the 
 matter, for sounds of mortal conflict reached them and 
 disturbed the peace of the afternoon. They arrived in 
 time to see the end of the tragedy, but not to prevent 
 it: for in a fury of blood-lust and long thwarted hate 
 Dingo had found Carlo, fastened on his throat, deeply 
 this time, and killed him before Peggy could interfere. 
 Someone near had tried to beat Dingo off with a sun- 
 shade, but she might as well have tickled him with a 
 feather. A poker would hardly detach him from a cat 
 once he was locked in battle. Peggy had plunged upon 
 
 65
 
 66 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 the adversaries without any sign of fear, and was still 
 biting Dingo's tail, her determined impish little face 
 nearly as white as his coat; but she had not succeeded 
 yet in making the dog free his prey. He was still shaking 
 it like a rat and growling happily and wickedly over the 
 inanimate body. 
 
 "Come away," said Victor, and administered a kick 
 to Dingo that sent him flying. 
 
 "You've hurt Dingo !" wailed Peggy. 
 
 "I wish I'd never given him to you," said Victor, and 
 stopped short because Peggy was staring in a helpless, 
 frightened way at her step-mother, who now arrived on 
 the scene. 
 
 As far as Victor could see, nothing further happened 
 at that moment that should not have happened. Mrs. 
 Twistleton, having considerable cause for displeasure, 
 behaved with calm. She did not even ask many ques- 
 tions. She told Peggy to go indoors at once and put 
 on dry things. She sent for a gardener to remove the 
 dead cat. She moved slowly back to the lawn with 
 those of her guests who were near, and she talked to 
 Victor about his walk over the hause. In fact, she gave 
 him the impression of being completely mistress of her- 
 self and her surroundings. He admired her and he 
 apologized to her for having given Peggy a dog with 
 such troublesome proclivities. 
 
 "Of course I didn't know," he said. "I wish you'd let 
 me send you another cat." 
 
 "But that wouldn't do," he went on, as she did not 
 speak ; "some day Dingo would kill it, and as for parting 
 Peggy and Dingo, it's unthinkable, isn't it? The child 
 would break her heart." 
 
 It was her turn to speak and to make some suggestion, 
 he thought; but she preserved a sphinx-like silence that 
 was disconcerting. It made him feel as if he had 
 floundered.
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 67 
 
 "Where did Peggy fall into the water?" she asked 
 after a pause. 
 
 "She toppled into it from the boat on Low Tarn," he 
 said. "I saw her. She was throwing a stick for Dingo 
 and overbalanced herself. I was just going in after her 
 when she came wading out." 
 
 He hoped he was not giving Peggy away, but he had 
 to answer. Probably she ought not to have been in 
 the water. She was evidently a child who got into mis- 
 chief and needed a firm hand: but the contrast between 
 her fearlessness in some respects and the stony terror 
 in her eyes at times struck him as odd. However, she 
 was not his business at present, and would not be for 
 years to come probably : perhaps never. He rather liked 
 her, but he was glad he had not the management of 
 her. He wondered who was looking after her indoors 
 and whether she would get a chill. Mrs. Twistleton did 
 not seem to trouble much. She kept him in tow for 
 a little while, and then introduced him to the prettiest 
 girl present: so the rest of the afternoon passed quickly 
 and pleasantly. He did not see Peggy again, and when 
 he started to walk back he was not thinking of her and 
 her troubles. 
 
 Victor Gerard was the prosperous son of a prosperous 
 man. The father had made money at home and the 
 son, going to Australia, had added to his inheritance. He 
 had rushed to the colors when war broke out, fought 
 mostly on the French front, been wounded twice, re- 
 ceived the M.C., and now at the age of thirty-five felt 
 uncertain what to do next. His father's business was in 
 other hands. His own had been more or less wound up 
 soon after his return to England. He might have to go 
 out again for a short time, but he did not mean to stay. 
 His only sister was married in Manchester, and he had 
 no other ties. Since he had been demobilized in March 
 he. had made his brother-in-law's house his headquarters,
 
 68 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 but he did not mean to live in Manchester. He did not 
 quite know yet where he wanted to live. He was taking 
 it easy after the war for a time. The Twistletons were 
 old family friends, and he had heard his father's version 
 of Henry Twistleton's disastrous marriage. He had 
 never seen Daphne, and until he had been taken to see 
 Peggy he had hardly known that there was a child. In 
 April he had thought Mr. Twistleton looked a hale man 
 for his years ; but now, in July, he was shocked to see 
 the change in him. In April Mr. Twistleton had asked 
 him if he would consent to be executor of his will and 
 co-guardian with Mrs. Twistleton of Peggy: and he had 
 consented, as a young man does consent to a request of 
 this kind, without expecting to be charged with its duties 
 for years to come. But as he made his way back to the 
 hotel to-night, Mr. Twistleton's drawn features and 
 waxen pallor weighed on his mind, and he realized that 
 he had put his hand to a task that the near future might 
 exact of him. However, he still thought that the busi- 
 ness of the guardianship would be financial. If her 
 husband died Mrs. Twistleton would continue to bring 
 up Peggy as her own child. She was a peculiar-looking 
 woman, and though he admired her composure and her 
 efficiency he hardly felt attracted. There was something 
 about her eyes that he disliked and the corners of her 
 mouth were either cruel or greedy: he hardly knew 
 which. He knew nothing of her history or her descent. 
 It would not have surprised him to find that she had a 
 slight strain of black blood in her. The whites of her 
 eyes had a blue tinge not often seen in Aryans, and her 
 hair waved more than black hair usually does on English 
 people. 
 
 It was a lovely summer evening. The haze had melted 
 from the fells, leaving them clear and blue in the light 
 of a sickle moon. The path by which Victor was making 
 his way back to the hotel sometimes took him high above
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 69 
 
 the water and sometimes close to it. Here he crossed 
 fields and streams, there he came out on a fell side and 
 walked shoulder-high through bracken: for a time he 
 clambered over moss-grown rocks lying strewn in a wood 
 as if giants had played with them and cast them there. 
 The trees of the wood were gnarled and twisted by rough 
 weather, and beneath the covering of their branches it 
 was so dark now that he had to pick his way slowly. 
 He had got to the end of it and into the clear evening 
 light again when he heard a rustle in the bracken just 
 ahead of him : and going up to it he found Peggy 
 crouched there with Dingo in her arms. 
 
 Peggy! barefoot and in her nightgown. Her eyes red 
 with crying, her body shivering with cold, the image of 
 misery. 
 
 "What in the name of mischief are you doing here?" 
 he cried. "Sleep-walking?" 
 
 Peggy had risen to her feet and was looking at him 
 with the blend of scare and hardihood that he had seen 
 in her before. 
 
 "I was waiting for you," she said. 
 
 "What do you want with me?" 
 
 "I like you," said Peggy. 
 
 "I'm glad of that. I like you too; but I'm on my 
 way home now, and to judge by your appearance you 
 ought to be in bed." 
 
 "I was in bed. I had to go there before tea because 
 I fell in the water." 
 
 "Why didn't you stay there?" 
 
 "I got out of the window." 
 
 "Got out of the window ! Do you sleep on the ground 
 floor then?" 
 
 "It isn't very high. You get hold of the wistaria 
 and just sling yourself down. I never did it before, 
 but I've often thought I would, and to-day I had to." 
 
 "Why didn't you put on some clothes and shoes?"
 
 70 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 "I wanted to be quick and quiet. If they found me 
 they'd whip me." 
 
 "Quite right too. I'd whip a child who got out of the 
 window when I'd put it to bed." 
 
 "Would you?" Peggy's eyes looked twice their usual 
 size as they fixed themselves on Victor's face. 
 
 "Of course I would. That sort of thing won't do. I 
 smacked my nephew the other day when he was dis- 
 obedient." 
 
 "Did he cry?" 
 
 "Not much." 
 
 "Perhaps you didn't smack hard enough." 
 
 "Perhaps I didn't. I shall know better next time." 
 
 "Look at my feet," said Peggy. And supporting her- 
 self by clutching at Victor's sleeve she stood on one 
 foot and held up the other for his inspection. The sole 
 of it was cut and bleeding and covered with earth. 
 
 "That's your own doing," said Victor. "What a silly 
 child you must be to run all this way without shoes." 
 
 "They hurt," said Peggy, "but I don't mind." 
 
 Victor sat down and took the shivering little figure on 
 his knee. She snuggled up to him and sighed. He 
 stroked her hair. 
 
 "I detest children," he said. 
 
 She wriggled still closer within his arms. 
 
 "Especially children like you . . . always in mischief 
 and always giving trouble. As for Dingo, I think I shall 
 take him back to Manchester with me." 
 
 "I want you to," said Peggy. 
 
 That was the last answer that Victor expected, and 
 he felt nonplused. 
 
 "They are going to drown him," explained Peggy, and 
 so explained a good deal : Mrs. Twistleton's sinister 
 silence for one thing, and the child's valiant attempt to 
 save her friend. 
 
 "Who told you so?" asked Victor.
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 71 
 
 "Rose, the under-housemaid. She is Paterson's 
 daughter. He was to be drowned to-night in the lake." 
 
 "How did you get hold of him?" 
 
 "He was locked up in the old potting-shed. I'm locked 
 up there sometimes. There is one place where the wood 
 is rotten. I made a little hole and whispered to Dingo, 
 and he squeezed out. No one saw us. Will you take 
 him to Manchester with you?" 
 
 "I will either do that or see that he isn't drowned." 
 
 "I think he would be safer with you." 
 
 "But wouldn't you miss him?" 
 
 That was too much for Peggy. She buried her face 
 on Victor's shoulder and wept bitterly. He patted her 
 and tried to comfort her as well as he could, but she did 
 not stop until he created a diversion by looking at her 
 feet again and saying that there was a stream close by 
 where she could wash them. 
 
 "But what's the use?" she argued. "If I have to walk 
 home they'll be dirty again directly." 
 
 "You are not going to walk home," said he: and the 
 next moment wondered what he had done now. For the 
 child gave a whoop of ecstasy, and putting both her arms 
 round his neck smothered him with kisses. Of course 
 Dingo, seeing and hearing the excitement, had to join 
 in it, and jumped up at them over and over again, bark- 
 ing joyfully. 
 
 "When you've both quite finished, perhaps you'll tell 
 me what the joke is," said Victor, as soon as he could 
 get his breath. "You didn't suppose I was going to leave 
 you out here all night, did you?" 
 
 "But you're going to take me with you to Manchester, 
 aren't you?" 
 
 "Not for the mines of Golconda. What do you sup- 
 pose I should do with you in Manchester?" 
 
 "Couldn't I live in the same house as your nephew, 
 the one you smacked?"
 
 72 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 "I'm afraid not. Come along, I'm going to let you 
 wash your feet in the stream and then I'm going to carry 
 you back." 
 
 Peggy's face had fallen and she did not speak again 
 while she paddled over the soft, short grass to the stream 
 close by and there held her bruised feet in a pool amongst 
 the bowlders that Victor found for her. The water was 
 too cold to keep them in it long, and when she had 
 finished Victor set her on his shoulders. 
 
 "Hold tight," he said. 
 
 "They'll put a stone round Dingo's neck and drown 
 him." 
 
 "Not if I know it." 
 
 "I don't want you to carry me." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "I can walk. I walked here by myself. Then you 
 can go straight back to the Hallinwater Hotel with 
 Dingo." 
 
 "I don't wonder they beat you," said Victor. "You 
 sit still and don't dare to move or speak till I say you 
 may. Do you hear?" 
 
 "May I stroke your hair?" said Peggy. 
 
 "Oh, damn !" said Victor, who had been walking with 
 his hat in his hand. "No, you may not !" 
 
 "It looks so smooth. I want to," said Peggy: and 
 she did it.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 "TTTHAT do you think they will do to me?" said 
 
 \\ Peggy, shivering with chill and unpleasant 
 anticipation, as they got near the house. 
 
 "What do you think you deserve?" said Victor, and 
 tightened his hold a little. He detested children, but 
 when the forlorn creature put her head down close to 
 his so that he felt the warmth of her cheek and the coax 
 of her small hand on his hair, his ideas about them seemed 
 to dissolve in an unexpected glow. 
 
 ''What would you do to me?" said Peggy. 
 
 "I should beat you." 
 
 "You wouldn't." Her voice was close to his ear. 
 
 "I should." 
 
 Her answer was to rub her cheek against his and 
 snuggle a little closer to him than before. It would have 
 been disconcerting if her conduct had concerned him. 
 Luckily it did not. 
 
 "Are you going to take Dingo back with you?" she 
 said when they got within sight of the house. 
 
 "No," said Victor. 
 
 "Will you make them forgive him?" 
 
 "I'll see what I can do." 
 
 "Even if they promised they might kill him after you 
 had gone." 
 
 "My good child " began Victor in astonishment, 
 
 but was interrupted by Peggy, who said in her flutey, 
 matter-of-fact treble: 
 
 "Mother likes killing things." 
 
 "Oh, nonsense!" said Victor. "I suppose you mean 
 she shoots rabbits or pheasants and you eat them." 
 
 73
 
 74 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 "I don't mean that," said the child, and relapsed into 
 silence. 
 
 The house was in sight now and a minute or two later 
 Peggy asked to be put down. 
 
 "I'm going to take you right in," said Victor. 
 
 "No . . . no," said Peggy. "Dingo and I will get in 
 by the back way and I'll go straight to bed. I promise 
 you I will. Perhaps they won't do anything to me till 
 to-morrow." 
 
 "You go to sleep and don't worry," said Victor. "I'll 
 put things straight for you this once . . . but next time, 
 mind. . . ." 
 
 He had carried her right to the back door and watched 
 her through it while he was recovering from the ardent 
 embraces of parting. Then he went round the house to 
 the front door. 
 
 What arguments he used Peggy never discovered, but 
 next morning he was still there because he had been 
 asked to dine and spend the night: and Dingo was not 
 executed: and she was not punished this time: but if 
 ever she did such a wicked thing again she would be 
 punished severely. 
 
 "What did you say?" she asked him after breakfast, 
 when he came up to see her for a moment and to bid 
 her good-by. But he did not tell her and she did not 
 have him to herself more than half a minute. Miss 
 Busby came into the schoolroom and engaged him in 
 silly grown-up conversation about the weather: and then 
 Mabel peacocked in, her hair curly and arranged, her 
 clothes neat, her manner expectant. But Victor did not 
 turn from Peggy to her as most visitors did at once. 
 Peggy loved him more than ever for that. He only 
 stayed a few minutes altogether, but he let her sit on 
 his knee and feel that they were friends. When he went 
 she had to stand with her back to the room and pretend 
 to look out of the window so that the others should
 
 ' LAW AND OUTLAW 75 
 
 not see her eyes full of tears. If she had not had Dingo 
 left the world would have been gray and empty that 
 day. 
 
 After this, for a long while, life went on as usual: 
 except that it became plainer, even to the schoolroom, 
 that Mr. Twistleton was ill. Lunch-parties went on even 
 when the host could not be present: and some people 
 came to stay, but as a rule did not stay long. Mrs. 
 Twistleton could not live like a recluse because her hus- 
 band was in a bad state of health, said Miss Busby to 
 Jordan when they had a little conversation one day: 
 and he seemed to agree with her. But Mrs. Butterfield 
 in discussing the question with him said she had her own 
 opinion, and would keep it to herself. A woman who 
 could see her husband suffer as the master did and be 
 thinking about prawns in aspic and fal-de-lals all the 
 time was a woman who had a stone where her heart 
 should be. No doubt a stone is more comfortable in- 
 side you than a soft, easily-upset organ like a heart: 
 but Mrs. Butterfield felt sorry for the old man, though 
 he had been a hard one in his time. The nurses said he 
 suffered torments, and his eyes were like a clog's, asking, 
 when his wife came near. But she never turned a hair 
 or lost an hour's sleep, or a meal with its courses. A 
 wonderful woman, one of the nurses said, who was a 
 fool. The other, who was not a fool, said nothing. 
 
 So, as far as Peggy was concerned, the King of Ter- 
 rors was on the threshold of the house and her old 
 imaginary fears became as painted shadows compared 
 with this grim reality. Miss Busby talked in whispers 
 to the nurses and servants : whispers that the children 
 could overhear. A great surgeon and another doctor 
 came from Manchester, and the schoolroom, peeping 
 through a door, saw them arrive. Next morning Mrs. 
 Twistleton, coming into the schoolroom for a moment, 
 found Miss Busby in a state of emotion that apparently
 
 76 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 made the usual morning lessons out of question : for 
 Peggy, looking pale and scared, was hugging Dingo in 
 the window, and Mabel, unmoved and unoccupied, sat 
 on the table swinging her legs. 
 
 "What is happening here?" said Mrs. Twistleton. 
 
 "I thought ... I thought . . ." stammered Miss 
 Busby. "It is so difficult to fix the attention. . . ." 
 
 Mrs. Twistleton looked at the governess and then at 
 the watch on her wrist. 
 
 "You are half an hour late," she said, "but you can 
 go on till one to-day. I want two of the children's frocks, 
 please . . . their last new white ones." 
 
 Miss Busby pulled herself together, fetched the frocks, 
 and when Mrs. Twistleton had gone heaved a heavy sigh 
 and started an arithmetic lesson. That is to say, she set 
 the children sums and while they did them let her 
 thoughts wander to the frocks. Why had Mrs. Twistle- 
 ton taken them? As patterns? But no new ones would 
 be wanted unless. . . . Cold blooded ! Yes : to be sure 
 Mrs. Twistleton was cold-blooded. But she did not know 
 yet whether her husband would live or die. If he sur- 
 vived the operation to be performed this morning, he 
 might live as an invalid for months to come. Jordan, 
 quoting the nurses, had said so. 
 
 The stable clock struck eleven. Rose, the housemaid, 
 brought in biscuits and milk and seemed to bring in with 
 them a strange clinging scent that filled the room. 
 
 "What is it?" said Mabel. "I don't like it." 
 
 "It's the anesthetic," said Miss Busby. "Ether or 
 chloroform, or both." 
 
 "What is an anesthetic?" asked Peggy, who had an 
 ear for words and had followed this unknown one care- 
 fully, though her tongue stumbled a little over it. 
 
 "Doctors give it you to deaden pain. You go to 
 sleep and feel nothing they do ... not even if they cut 
 off your leg."
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 77 
 
 Peggy shuddered. 
 
 "But when you wake . . . then you feel?" 
 
 "Go on with your sums and don't chatter," said Miss 
 Busby. 
 
 At lunch the two doctors were present and Mrs. 
 Twistleton conversed with them while the schoolroom 
 ate in silence and asked no questions. But after lunch 
 Jordan came upstairs and spoke to Miss Busby in whis- 
 pers. His face was grave. Peggy tried to hear what he 
 said, but could only catch disjointed sentences . . . some- 
 thing about someone "sinking," and then again, "not 
 through the night." What did "sinking" mean? If any- 
 one tied a stone round Dingo's neck and threw him into 
 the lake he would sink: but Dingo was here safe and 
 sound. 
 
 "Is Father worse?" she asked. 
 
 Her father had not played any part in her little life 
 that bound her warmly to him. He had never stood 
 between her and the chill rigors of her step-mother's 
 rule. Although Mabel was not his child he had per- 
 sistently made Mabel his favorite : losing no opportunity 
 of contrasting her with Peggy to Peggy's disadvantage. 
 Mabel's pinafore was always clean and smooth: Mabel's 
 hair was always tidy : her hands were clean : her shoes 
 were neat: her face was rosy and smiling. How was it 
 that Peggy could or would not follow her step-sister's 
 good example, and be beloved instead of constantly 
 scolded and punished? 
 
 She was not so much moved by affection as by terror 
 and pity, and by the sight of Miss Busby's commotion. 
 She wondered what was happening to her father. 
 
 "He is very ill," said Miss Busby, and buttoned her 
 mouth in a way both children knew. It meant that she 
 had information they were not to share, and it always 
 annoyed them. 
 
 "Will he get better?" asked Mabel, and was told that
 
 78 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 while there was life there was hope, and that it was time 
 for the daily afternoon walk. 
 
 "I think it's rather heartless to do lessons and go for 
 walks just as usual when Father is dying," said Mabel. 
 who had an uncanny knack of expressing what Miss 
 Busby felt, but dared not say, and thereby playing up 
 to her. 
 
 The next moment she was locked with Peggy in a 
 scuffle that ruffled her hair, incarnadined her cheeks and 
 tore her pinafore before Miss Busby could stop it by 
 pulling the smaller girl violently away from the bigger 
 one. 
 
 "She sha'n't say Father is dying!" panted Peggy. "It 
 isn't true." 
 
 "She has torn my pinafore!" wailed Mabel, and was 
 not appeased by being told that Peggy should be made 
 to mend it: for Mabel was a needlewoman already and 
 Peggy was not. However, after a little argument Miss 
 Busby got her pupils out for a walk, and in the open air 
 it seemed to Peggy that the world was alive again. 
 
 But when they got back the house still smelt of ether 
 and still brooded silently as it had done since the morn- 
 ing. Servants hardly showed themselves, and, if they 
 did, spoke in whispers. Mrs. Twistleton was invisible. 
 The two doctors had gone. The schoolroom tea was 
 like a funeral feast, silent and awe-stricken. For once 
 Peggy was glad when bedtime came. Bed was com- 
 fortable, and you could tell yourself what stories you 
 pleased as you went to sleep : stories of fairies and witches 
 and talking birds and beasts, and of children like Snow 
 White, who after being cruelly treated came by their 
 own. 
 
 It was neither dark nor light, but earliest dawn when 
 Peggy was waked violently out of sleep and sitting up 
 in bed saw her step-mother. Mrs. Twistleton's face 
 looked spectral to the child, angry and hard set, with a
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 79 
 
 greenish pallor on it that had for a crown the black 
 masses of her hair. Peggy wanted to shriek and could 
 not. She thought that her last hour had come and that 
 she was to be murdered as the little boy had been: the 
 one who had been troublesome and was well out of the 
 way. 
 
 "Get up," said Mrs. Twistleton. "Be quick! Your 
 father wants to see you." 
 
 Which was worse, the receding imaginary terror or 
 this real one clutching at her? Death itself awaited her 
 close by and she was summoned to look upon it. She 
 knew that from what she saw in her step-mother's face. 
 
 "Must I come?" she asked with a shiver. 
 
 "Don't you want to?" said Mrs. Twistleton, and looked 
 at the child with curiosity but not with pity. 
 
 "Is Father dying?" 
 
 "Yes. If you are not quick. . . ." 
 
 "I'm afraid." 
 
 "I can't help that. You must come." 
 
 The child crept out of bed and followed the woman 
 through the schoolroom wing and along the corridor 
 leading to the chief bedrooms on that floor. She fol- 
 lowed barefoot and in her nightgown, her heart beating 
 with fright and her small body cold. She did not know 
 what she was to see. Her feet carried her on and her 
 fears turned her back : but at last a door was reached 
 and gently opened. She saw two nurses, one on either 
 side of the bed. She saw an open window and the 
 blessed morning light stealing upon the hills. In the 
 room itself the air felt heavy and drugged, and when 
 she looked at the bed she saw her father lying there still 
 and patient as she had never seen him before. He opened 
 his eyes when she came in and fixed them on her face. 
 But she spoke to his wife. 
 
 "I want to be left alone with Peggy," he said. 
 
 The two nurses moved to leave the room at once, and
 
 80 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 after a moment's hesitation Mrs. Twistleton followed 
 them : but her manner showed that she did so grudgingly. 
 
 "Don't come near the bed," said the dying man when 
 the door had shut. "If you touch it you'll hurt me, 
 Can you understand what I say? You needn't look so 
 scared. I can't hurt anyone." 
 
 Peggy stole as close to the bed as she could without 
 touching it. She suddenly felt sorry for her father: 
 more sorry than afraid. 
 
 "I wish you would get better," she said. 
 
 "So do I: and I wish you were a little older. But it 
 can't be helped. You must try to remember what I 
 tell you. When I am gone your step-mother and Mr. 
 Gerard will be your guardians. You can go to Mr. 
 Gerard if you want help. Do you understand?" 
 
 "Yes," said Peggy, not understanding much, but seiz- 
 ing the main fact that Mr. Gerard would stand her 
 friend. 
 
 "Some day you will go back to your mother," Mr. 
 Twistleton went on. His voice was weak but clear, and 
 Peggy did not know what a supreme effort he was mak- 
 ing for her sake. He had nearly reached the limit of it. 
 
 "I should like to go now," the child said. 
 
 "The sooner the better." 
 
 The words came through his teeth on his failing 
 breath so that Peggy hardly caught them. She crept a 
 little closer still, but did not speak. His eyes had closed 
 again and she could hardly hear him breathe. When her 
 step-mother and the nurses came back a moment later 
 they found her standing there wide-eyed and chill, but 
 seemingly not afraid. One of the nurses took her back 
 to her own room and put her to bed.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 IT was broad daylight when Peggy waked again and 
 time to get up: some hours of sound sleep inter- 
 posed themselves between her and the dolorous 
 memories of the night, but there remained enough to 
 make a cleft between the past, when she had never looked 
 on death, and the future, sure at times to show it her 
 as in a mirror. 
 
 "Your father died in the night," said Miss Busby, 
 when she came to call her to the bathroom. 
 
 "I saw him," said Peggy, and as Miss Busby looked 
 incredulous, she added, "Mother fetched me in the middle 
 of the night." 
 
 "We shall both have to wear mourning," said Mabel, 
 who had come in too and was listening. "Father was 
 very fond of me." 
 
 "Yes," said Peggy. 
 
 "I don't wish to be unkind " 
 
 "Especially at such a time as this," put in Miss Busby 
 hurriedly. 
 
 "Especially at such a time as this," echoed Mabel, 
 "but to tell the truth, I don't think he cared about you 
 much." 
 
 "He did," said Peggy. "Twice I knew that he did. 
 Once, a long time ago, when he found Dingo and me on 
 the fell and talked to me: and then again last night." 
 
 "Well, twice isn't much," said Mabel; "I was his 
 favorite." 
 
 Peggy could not deny it, but she would have said or 
 done something to annoy Mabel if Miss Busby had not 
 hauled her off to the bathroom. 
 
 81
 
 82 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 "To squabble at such a time as this !" 
 
 Miss Busby was surprised and .horrified at the de- 
 pravity of human nature. She spoke in a whisper and 
 moved on tip-toe even in the schoolroom wing. Why? 
 It was irritating, Peggy found, and made her want to 
 run out of doors and shout. The sun was shining, the 
 sky was blue, the world went round. She did not under- 
 stand. 
 
 "What is to be done about the children's mourning?" 
 Miss Busby asked discreetly when Mrs. Twistleton ap- 
 peared in the schoolroom in the middle of the morning. 
 
 "I ordered it yesterday. It is promised for Thursday." 
 
 "We can easily keep out of sight until then." 
 
 "Why should you? I suppose you will want your 
 lunch as usual." 
 
 "I thought if many people were coming to and 
 fro. . . ." 
 
 "People will come to the funeral. Mr. Gerard arrives 
 to-morrow. I expect no one else." 
 
 Peggy had pricked up her ears at Victor's name. 
 
 "Will he walk here?" she said. 
 
 "Don't be silly! He is coming from Manchester," 
 said Mrs. Twistleton. 
 
 "May I go in the car to meet him?" she said, quaking 
 inwardly at her own forwardness. 
 
 Mrs. Twistleton looked at her. "You !" she said. 
 "Why should you go to meet Mr. Gerard? I'm going 
 in to Senwick myself, and if I take anyone it will be 
 Mabel." 
 
 Of course it was Mabel. It was always Mabel, 
 dressed up like a peacock and giving herself airs. He 
 would talk to her and think her pretty and never dis- 
 cover that she was as stupid as a doll: one of those 
 bleating ones that cry "Mamma!" and shut their idiotic 
 eyes. Was he going to be Mabel's guardian too now 
 that Father was dead ?
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 83 
 
 "What is a guardian?" said Peggy when she sat at 
 tea that afternoon with Miss Busby. 
 
 "Someone who takes the place of a father," said Miss 
 Busby, putting it shortly. 
 
 "Mr. Gerard and Mother are my guardians," said 
 Peggy. "I mean this Mother, not the other one." 
 
 Miss Busby pursed her mouth as if she wished it to 
 say "prunes and prisms." She had heard just enough 
 about Peggy's "other Mother" to consider her an im- 
 proper subject for conversation : and she thought it un- 
 fortunate that the child should know of her exist- 
 ence. 
 
 "Will Mr. Gerard come here to live?" continued Peggy 
 meditatively. 
 
 "Why should he?" 
 
 "How can he take Father's place if he doesn't? Will 
 he marry Mother . . . this Mother? I hope not." 
 
 "You are the most heartless child I ever knew," cried 
 Miss Busby. "There is your poor father lying dead next 
 door and you talk of your step-mother's marriage. And 
 your mourning ordered before the breath was out of 
 his body . . . poor good man." 
 
 "I'd forgotten," said Peggy penitently ; "I was think- 
 ing of Mr. Gerard. I don't want him to be Mabel's 
 guardian." 
 
 "Why not? What is Mr. Gerard to you?" 
 
 "I like him better than anyone in the world except 
 Dingo. Perhaps I like them equally. Xo ; I like Dingo 
 the very best because he is my own." 
 
 "I adore Mr. Gerard," said Mabel affectedly when she 
 came upstairs at six o'clock. "I've promised to show 
 him the short way up Banner Fell to-morrow." 
 
 "I don't believe you know it," said Peggy. 
 
 "I do." 
 
 "You are always too lazy to go." 
 
 "With you ! It's not amusing. Besides, Mr. Gerard
 
 84 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 is not a child of nine. He'll give me a hand in the 
 difficult places." 
 
 "There are no difficult places, silly." 
 
 "Oh, you're jealous ! I thought you would be," said 
 Mabel, and with her head in the air marched out of the 
 room. 
 
 "I wish you and Mabel would not squabble so much," 
 said Miss Busby, putting down the novel in which she 
 had been engrossed. "At such a time as this 
 
 She did not finish her sentence, for Peggy gave a little 
 squeal of joy because the door opened and Victor 
 walked in. 
 
 "Really, Peggy, you might be a fox-terrier yourself," 
 he said, when he had recovered from her welcome. ""Why 
 did you kick me?" 
 
 "I didn't," she said, standing close within his arm 
 when he sat down, "but I couldn't reach, and you didn't 
 stoop quick enough, and I was so glad to see you. . . ." 
 
 "So you tried to climb up me . . . just like Dingo. 
 How is he? No, don't fetch him. I must go down- 
 stairs directly. I shall see you again to-morrow." 
 
 "I wish you could stay now," said Peggy. 
 
 "Why are you all skin and bones?" he said, looking 
 at her. "Mabel is plump enough. Does she eat all 
 your pudding? Why is this child so thin, Miss 
 Busby?" 
 
 "I'm sure I don't know," said Miss Busby, looking 
 rather offended ; "she was ordered cod liver oil but she 
 refuses to take it: and unless Mrs. Twistleton herself 
 comes up and stands over her or pours it down her 
 throat . . . she did for a week or two, but she has had 
 other things to think of lately. . . ." 
 
 "I hate it," said Peggy, with a wriggle of disgust.^ 
 
 "So do I," said Victor, whispering in her ear ; then he 
 got up to go, without having said a word about her 
 father's death or made any reference to "such a time as
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 85 
 
 this." At least he had said nothing that Miss Busby 
 could hear or repeat: but he had said all Peggy had 
 wanted him to say, to her only. His eyes had told her 
 that he was sorry for her because she was fatherless, and 
 when he had put his arm round her he had given her a 
 promise of affection that left a glow in her little heart. 
 She wished she could be with him always. 
 
 When Victor went downstairs he found Mrs. Twistle- 
 ton waiting for him in her own room. He had not been 
 there before, and he thought as he went in that she was 
 a difficult woman to understand. He did not like her, 
 but he admired her looks, the apparent placidity of her 
 temper and her clever hospitality. She seemed to know 
 what a man wanted, she dressed seductively, and her 
 room was comfort itself. Just the kind of chair he 
 liked was there for him, and as she was smoking herself, 
 he could smoke too. A wood fire had been lighted and 
 scented the air pleasantly. Through the window he could 
 see the lake and the last rays of sunset reddening the 
 sky and the hills. That Mrs. Twistleton should be sit- 
 ting there in what looked like a chemise of purple and 
 gold, with her neck and arms bare and a double row of 
 pearls around her throat, was not really odd when he 
 came to think of it. Her black trappings could not have 
 arrived yet : hardly have been ordered. But her air was 
 expectant and alert. She did not sit there with sorrow, 
 though she was decorously quiet. 
 
 "I thought that after dinner you would be busy with 
 my husband's papers and that we could have half an 
 hour now," she said. 
 
 It was so plain that she wanted to talk business that 
 Victor made no attempt to beat about the bush. 
 
 "I saw Mr. Barnes yesterday," he said. "He has 
 given me a copy of Mr. Twistleton's will and a state- 
 ment of his affairs. He wished me to express his regret 
 that he could not come to the funeral to-day. He has
 
 86 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 had a bad bout of influenza. He thinks he could get over 
 next week if you wish to see him." 
 
 "Of course I must see him," said Mrs. Twistleton. 
 "What are the terms of the will?" 
 
 Victor saw that the woman was in a state of intense 
 excitement. The pupils of her eyes had become quite 
 small, her hands were clenched, and though she con- 
 trolled her voice as well as she could, it was charged 
 with emotion. 
 
 "Mr. Twistleton has provided generously for you and 
 Mabel," he said, thinking her anxiety had some cause and 
 wishing to reassure her. But the effect of his words was 
 unexpected. 
 
 "He once said that he would leave me everything," 
 she cried. 
 
 "He has left you five thousand a year for life and 
 fifty thousand in trust for Mabel. That will be settled 
 on her when she marries." 
 
 "Do you mean to say that I have no control over the 
 capital? That I have nothing but an income of five 
 thousand a year?" 
 
 "You have this house for life." 
 
 "Can't I sell it?" 
 
 "No. At your death it goes to Peggy." 
 
 For a moment Mrs. Twistleton did not speak, but at 
 Peggy's name her heavy eyelids closed a little over her 
 eyes and narrowed them. 
 
 "How is Peggy provided for?" she asked presently. 
 
 "She has the residue." 
 
 "What will that be?" 
 
 "I can't quite tell you. The death duties will be heavy 
 and there is a great deal to settle and arrange. Mr. 
 Barnes estimates Peggy's share at a quarter of a million, 
 but he isn't certain yet. It depends partly on the sale 
 of a block of warehouses " 
 
 "Am I to understand that I only get five thousand a
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 87 
 
 year and that Mabel is put off with fifty thousand while 
 a quarter of a million goes to Peggy?" 
 
 "She is Mr. Twistleton's child." 
 
 "By a harlot." 
 
 "Peggy can't help that." 
 
 They had both spoken with some haste and heat, and 
 a moment of uncomfortable silence embarrassed them 
 before either spoke again. Mrs. Twistleton's placid eyes 
 were fixed again in watchfulness, but Victor had seen 
 them flash with anger and had seen her mouth cruel with 
 rage. The glimpse of smoldering passion beneath that 
 self-controlled indolent manner had startled him and 
 sown the first seeds of uneasiness and distrust. 
 
 "What would become of the money if Peggy should 
 die?" she asked after a pause. 
 
 "It would be divided. Mabel and Peggy's cousins 
 would have equal shares." 
 
 He wished he need not have given her this informa- 
 tion, but it was useless to withhold it. She would find 
 it in her husband's will. 
 
 "Did my husband tell you what his arrangements were 
 this spring when he asked you to be his executor?" 
 
 "Yes, he did," said Victor. 
 
 "Didn't you remonstrate with him?" 
 
 "It was not my business to. He had discussed 
 everything with Mr. Barnes and probably taken his 
 advice." 
 
 "I've no doubt of it," said Mrs. Twistleton bitterly. 
 "Odious old man! I should have had a better marriage 
 settlement if it had not been for him. However, it 
 can't be helped. Of course I shall have to live in a 
 smaller way. Five thousand a year doesn't go far now- 
 adays: and I have Mabel to educate. By the way, will 
 the interest of her fifty thousand come to me till she 
 marries or is of age?" 
 
 Victor hesitated. "I forgot to ask Mr. Barnes that,"
 
 88 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 he said. "I don't know. I should think some arrange- 
 ment might be made." 
 
 "Certainly some arrangement must be made for both 
 children. I must see Mr. Barnes as soon as possible. 
 I wonder why my husband asked you to be Peggy's 
 guardian and what your function will be?" 
 
 "He asked me because I was the son of his old friend." 
 
 "You can't know much about children," she said. 
 
 "I know nothing about them." 
 
 "I suppose you will invest and administer her money 
 and I shall have charge of her?" 
 
 "I had not contemplated removing her ... at 
 present." 
 
 "I suppose we have equal authority?" 
 
 "Not quite. If we disagree I may act as I think best." 
 
 Mrs. Twistleton looked at the young man again. His 
 voice was urbane: almost deprecatory: and his eyes had 
 a humorous light in them. But she judged that his voice 
 and his eyes and every line of his pleasant face might 
 harden in conflict and that he would not be an easy man 
 to oppose. 
 
 "I am sure we shall agree," she said. "You admit 
 that you know nothing of children, and I know nothing 
 of money matters. Our departments are watertight and 
 we will not interfere with each other."
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE funeral was over, the guests had departed, and 
 Victor, who was staying till next day, went out 
 into the garden for a smoke and a stroll. It was 
 a late October afternoon, and all the sunshine of sum- 
 mer seemed, still to gild the trees. Their leaves fell in 
 gentle showers as he passed beneath them, and they 
 covered the paths wherever they were not swept away. 
 He soon got beyond the garden to some wilder land that 
 belonged to Beda Close but was not enclosed, and from 
 that to the old grass walk at the foot of the fells where 
 the bracken was golden and the rabbits scampered from 
 rock to rock as he approached their lairs. 
 
 He had had a busy time of it since his arrival, and 
 he had seen a great deal of Mrs. Twistleton and next to 
 nothing of Peggy. Even when Mabel showed him the 
 way up Banner Fell the younger child had not accom- 
 panied them, and when he asked why, he had been told 
 that she had been kept in as a punishment. 
 
 "What had she done ?" said Victor. 
 
 "She put out her tongue at me," said Mabel. "We 
 all try to teach Peggy manners, but we don't succeed. 
 Mother says it is not surprising and that there is no 
 knowing how she will turn out ... if she ever 
 grows up." 
 
 "Why shouldn't she grow up?" 
 
 "Mother says she has no constitution. She is always 
 getting colds. I don't. I went through the whole of 
 last winter without one. Besides, I am not excitable, 
 like Peggy. Mother says I have an even temperament. 
 
 89
 
 90 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 Peggy is always in extremes. If you had seen her just 
 now you would have thought her heart was broken." 
 
 "What about?" 
 
 "This walk. She wanted to come. She has one of 
 her violent manias for you. Mother says that kind of 
 thing must be stopped at once. It is so unbalanced. 
 Besides, it is troublesome. Mother told her that you 
 could not possibly want a child of nine running after 
 you, and that if you did want her you would send for 
 her." 
 
 Victor was thinking of this idle chatter as he sauntered 
 along the grass path at the foot of the fells. He did not 
 take to Mabel. She was too smug and well pleased with 
 herself to please him. Not a hair of her head or a fold 
 in her frock had been disarranged as she walked up 
 Banner Fell ; but she had not walked far. She had soon 
 said she was rather tired to-day and would sit down 
 while he went on to the top. So he sat down with her 
 for a few minutes, and then took her back to the house. 
 She bored him and confirmed him in his ideas about dis- 
 liking children ; especially girls. Vain, empty-headed 
 creatures they were: and grew into women without 
 undergoing a great change presumably. At least he 
 thought Mabel would. Mrs. Twistleton was no fool. He 
 had found her clear-headed where business was con- 
 cerned and as hard as nails. She was not satisfied with 
 the terms of her husband's will and she fought every 
 debatable point with a keen eye to her own advantage. 
 As Beda Close was hers for life she would let it furnished, 
 she said, and add the large rent it would bring to her 
 income. 
 
 "But what will you do?" Victor had asked. 
 
 "I think of going abroad next year for a time and 
 then I shall take a flat in London. You can't educate 
 girls in the country." 
 
 "But while you travel?"
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 91 
 
 "The children will travel too. They will learn French 
 and Italian. It will be good for them. Of course you 
 must allow me enough for Peggy's expenses." 
 
 "I'm not sure that I like the idea for Peggy," Victor 
 had said, and Mrs. Twistleton had not answered. It was 
 not necessary. She had told him what she wished to do 
 and she meant to do it. He could not stop her. Her 
 silence and the tightened lines of her mouth told him 
 this while her odd eyes remained as expressionless as 
 usual. She went on to talk of other things. 
 
 It is easy enough to look after yourself, thought Victor 
 as he sauntered on. It is when you undertake to look 
 after other people that your troubles begin. So far he 
 had not found in it in his heart to want a wife and 
 children of his own. He had not reached his present 
 age without being attracted by women, but he had never 
 asked one to marry him. Marriage meant bondage for 
 both contracting parties, while as for children. . . ! The 
 wonder was that the human race went on, considering 
 the trouble the creatures were to rear. He would put 
 every one of them into huge state nurseries and schools 
 where they would annoy no one but paid officials and all 
 have an equal chance. Such a scheme would please the 
 poor and relieve the rich. Why did no one work it out? 
 He supposed the women would object, and in these days 
 women had a voice in everything. There were too many 
 of them in this country. He would go back to some 
 wilder land where a man could live amongst men. But 
 if he did he would have to resign this trust that he had 
 accepted so rashly. He could not live in East Africa, 
 for instance, and look after Peggy, on Hallinwater. He 
 would have to go to Australia again before long, and then 
 he had a mind to look at East Africa and the big game 
 there. He must consult Mr. Barnes about his duties 
 with regard to Peggy, for he was not really clear about 
 them. But of course he must either perform them
 
 92 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 scrupulously or transfer them to other hands. What 
 could the child's mother have been made of to desert 
 her? Women were often hard, heartless creatures: 
 more so than men. They were constantly exploding the 
 fiction of their softness and their helplessness by conduct 
 that men would repudiate. He might any moment find 
 Mrs. Twistleton a hard nut to crack. She was evidently 
 furious about the terms of the will : and what was this 
 chatter of Mabel's about Peggy's constitution ? Certainly 
 the child looked thin and scared. He must see her again 
 before he went back to Manchester since he was to be 
 saddled with her affairs. She came down to lunch every 
 day, dressed like a little crow, and sat at table without 
 opening her mouth: but he had seen other children as 
 silent in other houses. That was a canon of behavior 
 he had no quarrel with. But there was a look in this 
 child's eyes that should not have been there. He did 
 not know what he could do to help her, and probably 
 there was nothing much wrong. In talking to him Mrs. 
 Twistleton had taken for granted that she would live 
 with her step-mother till she was sixteen, when she 
 would be free to go to her own mother if she chose, 
 and if Victor approved. He wondered again what sort 
 of woman the mother was : and taking a sudden decision 
 he turned, walked swiftly back to the house, and made 
 his way to the schoolroom, where he found Peggy, very 
 red about the eyes, with a tattered book in her hands and 
 Dingo close to her on the window-seat. 
 
 "Why are you not out this fine afternoon?" he said. 
 
 "I'm kept in," said Peggy. 
 
 "Would you like to come out with me ... on the 
 lake?" 
 
 "Not really?" 
 
 "Go and put on your hat and mind you look in the 
 glass." 
 
 "Why?"
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 93 
 
 "Good children never ask why. They do as they are 
 told." 
 
 "I'm not good. I never shall be." 
 
 "Who says so?" 
 
 "Everyone. I don't care." 
 
 Peggy sighed and looked at the verses she had been 
 told to learn and did not know yet. She had had plenty 
 of time to learn them, but she had played with Dingo 
 instead, because she thought she had the afternoon be- 
 fore her. That was the way things happened. 
 
 "I don't know my verses. I shall be punished," she 
 said. 
 
 "Who will punish you? Miss Busby?" 
 
 Peggy shook her head. "Mother," she said under her 
 breath. 
 
 "I'll see that you are not punished to-day," said Victor. 
 "Be quick and get ready." 
 
 He could tell that Peggy only half believed him, but 
 she trotted off, followed by Dingo: and when she came 
 back she had washed the tear-stains from her face, as 
 he meant her to when he told her to look in the glass. 
 While she was away he thought about what she had said 
 and wished he knew what to do. There did not seem 
 anything to be done in a hurry: and he was probably a 
 fool to feel at all uneasy about the child. She must 
 lead the same life as Mabel, that petted doll. She oc- 
 cupied the same rooms, was taught by the same governess, 
 ate at the same table. Her clothes were good, she was 
 allowed to keep Dingo. Why did she seem all nerves 
 and jumps? Why was she such a little bag of bones? 
 He had an idea. 
 
 "Whom do you like best in the world?" he said. 
 
 "Dingo and you." 
 
 "But after us?" 
 
 "Mrs. Butterfield." 
 
 "Who is she?"
 
 94 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 "Our cook. She lives downstairs mostly, but I go and 
 see her when Miss Busby and Mabel are out. Sometimes 
 I sit on her knee in a rocking-chair and we both go to 
 sleep. On my birthday she gave me things to eat be- 
 cause I was hungry, although it was as much as her place 
 was worth. Don't you remember? I told you about 
 it when you came to see me on my birthday and you 
 promised not to tell : and she knew my real mother : and 
 on the mantelpiece she has a bottle with a ship in it. 
 Her nephew Jo is a sailor and made the ship and got it 
 into the bottle. She would show it you if we went down- 
 stairs, I expect. Have you ever seen a ship in a 
 bottle?" 
 
 "I'm not sure that I have," said Victor. "Take me 
 to see this one." 
 
 Luckily Mrs. Butterfield was in the hall writing a letter 
 when Victor and Peggy went in : an elderly woman, 
 Victor found, unlettered but shrewd and kindly. She 
 allowed Peggy to exhibit the ship in the bottle, and then 
 let her run upstairs for a box made of shells that was 
 a yet greater treasure. 
 
 "You are staying on, I hope?" said Victor. 
 
 "As far as I know," said Mrs. Butterfield. "But of 
 course there may be changes." 
 
 Victor looked round the room. It was the servants' 
 hall and he sat here talking to the cook; if he could 
 bring it about he wanted to take her into his confidence. 
 An unimaginable situation arising out of his new relation 
 to a child, and confirming him in his conviction that 
 children gave more trouble than they were worth. 
 
 "I am Miss Peggy's guardian," he said. 
 
 "I'm glad to hear it," said Mrs. Butterfield. "She 
 wants one." 
 
 "Well ... she had her father till he died." 
 
 Mrs. Butterfield made a slight noise in her throat that 
 might have meant anything.
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 95 
 
 "You're not going to live here, sir, are you?" she 
 inquired. 
 
 "No. I live in Manchester at present. I have to go 
 back to-morrow." 
 
 "Then, if I may ask, what good are you going to be 
 to Miss Peggy?" 
 
 "I shall look after her money affairs." 
 
 The noise Mrs. Butterfield made in her throat when 
 she heard this was more definite. It might have been 
 called a snort. 
 
 "What's a mite like that got to do with money affairs? 
 Sixpence a week and as much food as'd feed a 
 sparrer. . . ." 
 
 "But she will grow up." 
 
 "She may, or she may not. There's no knowing." 
 
 Victor did not know what to say next. The cook had 
 not given him any facts to go on, but she had made him 
 more uneasy than he had been before. 
 
 "The child is very fond of you " he began. 
 
 "Poor little soul !" said Mrs. Butterfield. 
 
 "Why do you pity her?" 
 
 "Who's she got in the world? Me and a fox-terrier! 
 It isn't much, is it? Why can't she be sent straight to 
 her mother?" 
 
 "Her mother deserted her." 
 
 "Begging your pardon, sir, she did nothing of the sort. 
 When the master locked the door against her she come 
 round to the back and stood there in the snow crying for 
 the child. I ought to know. I spoke to her last of 
 anyone. But the child had been sent away." 
 
 Victor listened in silence and without asking the ques- 
 tions he wanted to ask. He had never seen the first Mrs. 
 Twistleton or heard much about her: but his present 
 ideas about women and children inclined him to judge 
 hardly of a faithless wife. 
 
 "Mr. Twistleton took for granted that Miss Peggy
 
 96 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 would live on here," he said, after a little consideration. 
 "Mrs. Twistleton and I are acting together as her 
 guardians." 
 
 The cook preserved a stony silence, and stared out of 
 the window : and before either of them spoke again Peggy 
 rushed into the room with the shell box. Victor, feeling 
 that he had not made a success of his incursion below 
 stairs, admired it, shook hands with Mrs. Butterfield, 
 and then took Peggy on the lake for half ah hour. He 
 let her have one oar and gave her a lesson in rowing, 
 the first she had ever had, for she had taught herself 
 to paddle about Low Tarn. 
 
 "You don't come out on the lake by yourself, I hope?" 
 he said, as they turned homewards. 
 
 "I never have, but I will now," said Peggy. 
 
 "You will not." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "There you are . . . asking why again. Children 
 should never argue." 
 
 "But then they would never understand anything. You 
 don't know much about children ... do you?" 
 
 "I know enough to forbid you to go on the lake by 
 yourself. Do you understand that?" 
 
 "Are you angry ?" said Peggy with a sigh. 
 
 "No: why should I be?" 
 
 "You shouted at me." 
 
 "I beg your pardon. I didn't know I did. Don't you 
 like being shouted at?" 
 
 "I don't mind. If I came to live with you " 
 
 "Which you are not going to do." 
 
 "But I may think about it and tell myself stories about 
 it as if I was going to. If only you would wait about 
 eight or nine years. . . ." 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 "For me. I should be old enough then to be married,
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 97 
 
 and I could marry you. . . . Do you think you would 
 like it?" 
 
 "Speaking as one friend to another, Peggy, I don't 
 think I should. I'm not a marrying man." 
 
 "What a pity !" said Peggy.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 TTYEGGY was not asked to say her verses that night 
 and not punished. That was through Mr. Gerard. 
 Even Mother had to do as he told her. How Peggy 
 wished he would stay! But next morning he went back 
 to Manchester by an early train and it rained all day. 
 Dingo escaped into the garden, scampered across the 
 flower-beds, came back all wet and muddy and jumped 
 on her lap before she could stop him. Just before the 
 gong went for lunch, too, when she had on a clean 
 pinafore and was ready to go down. Miss Busby said 
 that never in her life had she come across such a tire- 
 some child or such an odious dog, and she wished the 
 dog was drowned. She tried to clean up the child with 
 a towel, but she only made her more smeary, and then 
 she got flustered and said they would be late and must 
 go down at once. 
 
 They were late. Jordan had a sad face and Mother 
 looked like thunder: thunder that discharged itself on 
 Peggy's head when she appeared with a muddy pinafore. 
 Before she knew what was going to happen she found 
 herself pushed through the doorway and told to make 
 herself tidy or keep out of sight. She was dreadfully 
 hungry and the smell of cooking made her hungrier, but 
 she had to go although she did not know where to find 
 a pinafore. Miss Busby had charge of the schoolroom 
 clothes and she was not methodical in her ways. So 
 Peggy had to hunt here and there for what she wanted 
 and then do the buttons at the back without help. It 
 took a long time, and all the while she was thinking how 
 
 98
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 99 
 
 hungry she was and how she hoped the others would 
 eat slowly. But they must have gobbled, for when she 
 slid into her place at table Jordan was handing round 
 apple snow. Peggy liked apple snow at the end of lunch, 
 but not at the beginning: so when it was handed to her 
 she looked at Mother. 
 
 "Don't you want any?" said Mrs. Twistleton. 
 
 "I've had no meat," said Peggy. 
 
 "You should have been here in time," said Mrs. 
 Twistleton. 
 
 So Peggy got nothing for lunch but apple snow : not 
 even bread or toast: and she went upstairs unsatisfied. 
 She would have gone down to Mrs. Butterfield if she 
 could have escaped; but as they left the dining-room 
 Mrs. Twistleton told Miss Busby that she was to take 
 the children a brisk walk and start at once, while there 
 was a lull in the weather. Miss Busby hated walks 
 directly after lunch, but she had to go. So she was 
 rather cross, and when Peggy showed her that her torn 
 mackintosh had not been mended she became crosser still 
 and told her to leave it at home. 
 
 "Peggy's clothes are always in the wars," fluted Mabel, 
 who looked trim and snug in her new Burberry. 
 
 "Mine was old when I had it," argued Peggy. "You 
 had made a little tear. If that had been mended. . . ." 
 
 Miss Busby, looking more affronted than before, said 
 she would have no squabbling and that she supposed 
 they had better start and get it over. So they set out, 
 keeping to the high road beside the lake, a walk Peggy 
 always avoided if she could. Why anyone should take 
 the road when they could keep to the fell side she could 
 not understand ; but Miss Busby and Mabel both pre- 
 ferred it. Peggy did not feel at all brisk because she 
 was so hungry, and when the others turned to go home 
 she began to lag behind. By that time she was too tired 
 and exhausted to keep up with them. Dingo enjoyed
 
 ioo LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 his walk thoroughly, and kept running back to tell her so, 
 with his tail in the air and his head on one side. But 
 his legs and his underneath were coated with mud as 
 they would not have been if they had kept on the clean 
 short grass of the fells. The bracken might have made 
 him wet, but bracken was not muddy like this horrid 
 road. Peggy thought it must be the road that made her 
 head ache and her limbs fejel lazy and heavy. She tried 
 to keep up with the others, and for some time did keep 
 them in sight : but they did not look back or try to hurry 
 her on. She was glad of that because she did not think 
 she could have walked any quicker. She knew her way. 
 Perhaps they hurried when it began to rain harder. Such 
 rain it was ! Sheets of it coming down straight from 
 a black sky and drenching you to the skin in no time. 
 There wasn't a soul to be seen either on the road or 
 on the lake. Peggy and Dingo were alone with it, and 
 it seemed stronger than her, like the sea. It took her 
 breath away. She could hear nothing else, and the hills 
 were blurred by it and the lake was one with it. Dingo 
 looked as if he had no coat for he was soaked through 
 and through. He shivered with cold and plodded on as 
 much as to say, "Water is my element and can't frighten 
 me." But he hated it really. So he and Peggy huddled 
 under a tree together and hoped it would not thunder 
 and lighten. But presently it did, and Dingo hated that 
 worse than the rain. He trembled with excitement and 
 gave little whines of misery: which showed Peggy that 
 he felt just as she did: except perhaps that he was not 
 quite as cold. Peggy was chattering with cold by this 
 time, but she stayed under the tree until she thought 
 there would be no more thunder and lightning. Then 
 she set out for home, her boots squishy with water, her 
 hat sending trickles down her face and neck. She knew 
 that her new black coat would probably never look new 
 again, but she could not think n.uch about that yet, or
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 101 
 
 even about her probable reception when she arrived 
 streaming, like Undine rising from the river. All she 
 could think of was the warmth and shelter indoors for 
 which every bit of her body craved, of dry clothes 
 and hot tea and bread and butter. Not that she was 
 as hungry now as she had been when she came out. She 
 would try to get round by the back and find Mrs. Butter- 
 field, who might say she did not want muddy dogs and 
 children messing up her floors but was sure to help her 
 somehow. She wished someone would drive by and give 
 her a lift, for there was a long way to go and the desolate 
 road stretched ahead of her unfriendly and inanimate. 
 She knew it inch by inch, but she could not know who 
 might be lurking on it to-day. She listened eagerly for 
 sounds. 
 
 Before she had gone far she heard a car coming in her 
 direction, and knew by its hoot and its whir that it 
 was probably their own. She called Dingo to her and 
 waited well out in the road so that Dixon, the chauffeur, 
 should see her, because she knew that if it was empty he 
 would stop for her. When he got close enough she 
 waved to him, and to her relief and joy he slowed down 
 and then came to a standstill. But her relief and joy 
 were short-lived. Mrs. Twistleton was in the car and, 
 pulling down the window, looked at the miserable little 
 object in the road. 
 
 "What are you doing there?" she said. 
 
 "I'm going home," said Peggy. 
 
 "Speak louder. How can I hear you when you mumble 
 like that!" 
 
 Peggy sidled closer to the car, looked at it longingly, 
 and again informed her step-mother that she was going 
 home. 
 
 "How is it that you are out here by yourself?" 
 
 "The others went quicker." 
 
 To Peggy's bitter disappointment, the window was
 
 102 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 pulled up again, Dixon was told through the speaking- 
 tube to go on at once, and the car began to move. For a 
 moment Peggy wondered if she dared climb on to the 
 step and over the door in front, and she might have done 
 it if it had not been for Dingo and if anyone but her step- 
 mother had been inside. But Dingo would try to follow 
 her and anything might happen to him: and her step- 
 mother would probably order her off again. The car 
 had lately been done up, the cushions were new, and 
 Peggy recognized that in her present dripping state she 
 was not good for cushions. The dye might come out of 
 her coat on them. Still, she did wish she could have got 
 up in front beside Dixon. She would have sat on a rug; 
 that would not have mattered as much as cushions. How- 
 ever, it w r as no use wishing. The car was out of sight 
 already and the road longer and drearier than it had 
 been before. By the time she had dragged along the 
 breadth of a field on her left she knew that her step- 
 mother must be safe at home and Dixon probably having 
 his tea in his cottage. He would not know how very 
 tired and wet and cold she was, although he had a little 
 girl of her age and made a great pet of her. She was 
 spoiled, Miss Busby said. Peggy's ideas began to wander 
 and break off queerly. From Ada Dixon who was spoiled 
 they jumped to Mr. Gerard. If she shut her eyes a 
 little she could see him and hear his voice and pretend 
 he was saying things to her. He told her to go on 
 and not to be silly. If he was there he would pull 
 her arm through his and make her walk straight and 
 quick. She was beginning to stumble now and the rain 
 was getting heavier again. Dingo kept beside her, but 
 he did not know there was anything wrong. Peggy knew 
 the poem about the man who died in the arms of Hel- 
 vellyn and Catchedicam, and whose dog stayed beside 
 him and died too. 
 
 "Would you do that, Dingo?" she said, and Dingo
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 103 
 
 wagged his tail at the sound of her voice and looked 
 back at her as much as to say, "Come on." 
 
 But she was beginning to think that she could not go 
 much farther: at any rate, not without another rest; 
 and when she came to a flat stone she sat down on it. 
 She had been wet to the skin long since, for her coat was 
 not a thick one, so the rain did not make much difference. 
 If it did she could not help it. By this time she was 
 dazed. She could not even feel afraid of the men with 
 sticks and stones who might be about on such a clay as 
 this. Her thoughts became numb, like her body, and so 
 she sat on, miserably cold, but apathetic and more in- 
 capable every moment of further effort. . 
 
 Dixon was having his tea in his cottage with his wife 
 and Ada, who was spoiled. He told them about his 
 encounter with Peggy, and his wife said that it was a sin 
 and a shame. The child might catch her death of cold 
 while he sat there eating his tea and talking of cushions. 
 If the truth was known they probably belonged to her. 
 She was her father's child, wasn't she ? and all the money 
 had been Mr. Twistleton's and not Jezebel's. 
 
 "S-sh!" said Dixon, looking at Ada. "Little pitchers 
 have long ears. And why Jezebel ?" 
 
 "I don't know," said Mrs. Dixon. "I always think 
 of her when I hear that chapter read. I see her sitting 
 at the window quiet and wicked. What are you going 
 to do about that child?" 
 
 "It's none of my business. She's home long since, 
 I expect." 
 
 "You can ask at the house, and if she isn't run the 
 car back before you clean it. It wouldn't take you five 
 minutes." 
 
 "It might cost me my place if I did it without orders, 
 and I've my own child to think of ... and you." 
 
 Mrs. Dixon said no more. It was not necessary, be- 
 cause she knew her man. When he had finished his
 
 104 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 tea he went to the mansion and asked if Miss Peggy 
 had come in : and while he waited for an answer from 
 the schoolroom he talked to Mrs. Butterfield, who used 
 the very words his wife had used and said it was a sin 
 and a shame. 
 
 "What's that Miss Busby about?" asked Dixon. 
 
 "She's nothing but a tool," said Mrs. Butterfield, and 
 as she spoke Rose, the second housemaid, came in and 
 said that Miss Peggy was not back yet and that Miss 
 Busby wished to have tea taken upstairs at once. 
 
 "Isn't she put out?" asked Dixon. 
 
 "She will be if her tea is late," said Rose pertly, and 
 went off to get it. 
 
 "I'll walk along the road to meet her," said Dixon. 
 
 "What good'll that do?" said Mrs. Butterfield. 
 
 "Give her a heart like. She's young to be trapesing 
 the roads in this weather." 
 
 "Be a man and take the car. Can't you say you 
 dropped a nut or something and went back for it? 
 What's the good of having a brain if you never use it at 
 an awkward moment?" 
 
 Dixon stroked his head, supposed he was a fool to 
 interfere, said it was raining worse than ever, and argued 
 that he was not dilly-dallying while the child caught her 
 death of cold, but only making up his mind as to what he 
 would say and do if he was given a month's notice on 
 the spot. 
 
 "What you forget is that the cushions are new," he 
 said. "From what I saw of Miss Peggy you might as 
 well turn the lake on them. You can't altogether blame 
 Mrs. Twistleton. Besides, if I do fetch the child, what 
 am I to do with her? Put her in the hall and let her 
 ruin the carpets as well as the cushions? Not much." 
 
 Mrs. Butterfield heaved a sigh as heavy as her person, 
 sent the kitchen-maid for a rug, gave it to Dixon and 
 told him to wrap Peggy in it, put her beside him and
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 105 
 
 bring her to the back door. If any questions were asked 
 she would take the responsibility because she didn't much 
 care whether she left or stayed. She didn't like such 
 goings-on. 
 
 "That's a good idea," said Dixon, accepting the rug 
 with a look of relief. "If I can keep her off the 
 cushions. . . ." 
 
 If Mrs. Butterfield had not been a woman of self- 
 control and particular about her language she would have 
 said "Drat the cushions." She looked it as she almost 
 shut the door in Dixon's face : and when she spoke to 
 Jordan about what had happened, and was told that Miss 
 Peggy had had nothing to eat since breakfast but apple 
 snow, she grew angrier still. 
 
 "There are things you can bear to see and there are 
 things you can't bear to see," she said darkly. "If 
 Mrs. Twistleton says anything to Dixon about the car I 
 shall speak." 
 
 "You'd only be told to go," said Jordan. "There's 
 nothing you can get hold of. Miss Peggy's not an easy 
 child. Why was her pinafore muddy, and why was she 
 so late for lunch? Why didn't she come in with the 
 others? It's not all Mrs. Twistleton." 
 
 But when, twenty minutes later, Dixon came back with 
 Peggy in his arms and Dingo at his heels Jordan changed 
 his note. Dixon walked straight into the hall where Mrs. 
 Butterfield was at tea with the upper servants and put 
 what looked like a bundle of rugs on the sofa. 
 
 "I found her lying on a heap of stones," he said. 
 "She's alive now, but I can't say what she'll be to- 
 morrow. She's as wet as a fish and as cold as a hail- 
 stone. She's asleep, I think. Perhaps she isn't as bad 
 as she looks. If you put her in a hot bath and give 
 her a drink. . . ." 
 
 "Thank you very much, Mr. Dixon," said Mrs. But- 
 terfield majestically. "I shall know what to do."
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 MRS. BUTTERFIELD undressed Peggy, wrapped 
 her in a thick, soft old Shetland shawl, took 
 her on her knee close to the fire and gave her a 
 cup of hot milky tea. The child soon came out of her 
 dazed state, but she shivered with cold. 
 
 "We'll have a hot bath directly," said Mrs. Butter- 
 field, "and then we'll be popped into bed with a hot 
 bottle." 
 
 "But I'm not ill," said Peggy. "I expect I'll have to 
 do my lessons." 
 
 She spoke heavily and sleepily and her eyes closed as 
 her head sank upon the cook's shoulder. She felt queer 
 and did not understand it: but she felt comfortable. 
 After the heap of stones and the relentless rain and the 
 desolation of the roadside, Mrs. Butterfield's lap was a 
 pleasant place. She began to dream and then to wake 
 again. 
 
 "Where is Dingo ?" she asked, trying to open her eyes. 
 But they were heavy. 
 
 "He's having a hot bath in the scullery," said Mrs. 
 Butterfield. "He'll be in directly as proud as a prince, 
 and wanting his tea, I'll be bound." 
 
 "He has biscuits," murmured Peggy. "They are in 
 my cupboard. What he likes is a bone." 
 
 "He shall have a bone, my lamb. Don't you trouble 
 yourself about nothing." 
 
 Peggy dropped off again and only half waked when 
 Mrs. Butterfield carried her upstairs. Even in the 
 delicious hot bath that had been got ready for her she 
 felt stupid and drowsy : but she was not in it long. The 
 towel that the cook dried her with was hot and so was 
 
 106
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 107 
 
 her bed when she was carried there. Yet she still felt 
 those odd shivers across her back, while her head ached 
 and her hands were hot. 
 
 "Does Miss Busby know that I've gone to bed?" she 
 said. 
 
 "I'm going to tell her now," said the cook. "You go 
 to sleep." 
 
 Mrs. Butterfield went into the schoolroom, where she 
 found Miss Busby trying to crochet a pink jumper from 
 one of Weldon's pattern books, while Mabel made a 
 hash of the Wedding March from Lohengrin on the 
 piano. The Wedding March stopped in the middle at 
 the unexpected irruption of the cook into the schoolroom, 
 and Miss Busby looked up in amazement, but imme- 
 diately looked down again at her pattern book. 
 
 " 'Commence with one hundred and seventeen chain 
 and work ten rows of border.' One moment, Mrs. But- 
 terfield. This is so difficult. Can you crochet? I've 
 never tried a jumper before, and if I go wrong. . . ." 
 
 "You've finished your tea, I see," said Mrs. Butter- 
 field, for the table was clear. 
 
 "Long since," said Mabel, who had twirled round on 
 the music-stool. "It's nearly six o'clock." 
 
 ' 'The front being wider than the back will contain 
 more groups of treble.' " 
 
 "What about Miss Peggy?" 
 
 "She hasn't come in yet," said Mabel. "Isn't she 
 the limit?" 
 
 "She had no lunch." 
 
 "She'll have no tea either, I'm afraid," said Mabel. 
 "It's her own doing. She should have kept up with us." 
 
 "She is three years younger than you, miss, and not 
 strong at that . . . and had had no meat since breakfast 
 . . . for I don't call apple snow meat." 
 
 "More do I," said Mabel with a giggle. 
 
 " 'Miss one treble, three treble,' " murmured Miss
 
 io8 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 Busby, and then raising her head and addressing Mrs. 
 Butterfield in a tone intended to convey reproof, she 
 said: 
 
 "Mrs. Twistleton will not allow Miss Peggy to have 
 any meal that she misses through her own misconduct. 
 That is her rule. Miss Peggy must learn to be punctual 
 and obedient." 
 
 The cook still stood in the doorway, a corpulent figure, 
 illiterate, and dressed in her working clothes, yet, by 
 reason of her nature, having more dignity than the foolish 
 young woman presiding in the schoolroom. She owned 
 to Jordan when she got downstairs that she would have 
 liked to snatch the crochet work from Miss Busby's hands 
 and shake her, but she showed no sign of such elemental 
 impulses in her speech or manner. 
 
 "I have given Miss Peggy some tea and a hot bath 
 and put her to bed," she said. 
 
 Miss Busby's ideas were not easily detached from her 
 own affairs, and at the moment the pink jumper was her 
 affair; but she stared at the cook in surprise. 
 
 "What very odd behavior!" she said. "Miss Peggy's 
 place is in the schoolroom." 
 
 "Yes, I know as it's your place to look after Miss 
 Peggy," said the cook blandly, "but I really couldn't 
 bring her up here, the state she was in ... it wasn't fit. 
 She's asleep now, and I'm going to ask Mrs. Twistleton 
 to 'phone for the doctor." 
 
 "Whatever for?" cried Mabel. 
 
 "Is she ill?" said Miss Busby skeptically. 
 
 "She's goin' to be, if I know anything about children," 
 said the cook, and closed the door after her. 
 
 Miss Busby felt disturbed and annoyed. Before she 
 settled down to her jumper again she went to Peggy's 
 little room, opened the door and looked in. Mabel went 
 with her. 
 
 "Hullo, Peggy!" said Mabel.
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 109 
 
 "Well, Peggy!" said Miss Busby. 
 
 But Peggy took no notice of them although her eyes 
 were not quite shut. She had a high color by this time, 
 and her breathing was quick and labored. 
 
 "She doesn't seem quite right," said Miss Busby. "I 
 daresay she wants a night's rest." 
 
 So she went back to her jumper, helped Mabel to bed 
 at the proper time, ate a hearty supper brought upstairs 
 by the housemaid, and went to bed at ten o'clock without 
 looking at Peggy again. She had rather expected to see 
 Mrs. Twistleton and to be hauled over the coals for 
 having left Peggy behind in the rain. With regard to 
 Peggy, there was never any knowing what would please 
 Mrs. Twistleton or what would displease her. While 
 Mr. Twistleton lived there had sometimes been an ex- 
 plosion on his part on the child's behalf that resulted 
 in some new clothes or the remission of punishment. 
 He it was who had given orders that Dingo should not 
 be killed after Mr. Gerard had brought Peggy home. 
 But now he was dead and Mr. Gerard was away in 
 Manchester. Miss Busby supposed that Peggy was in 
 for a bad time. Luckily, children were tough and in- 
 sensitive. They did not suffer as their elders did: and 
 Peggy brought her troubles on herself. If she had been 
 more like Mabel her step-mother might have suffered her 
 more gladly. But Mrs. Twistleton was an odd woman. 
 She actually seemed to enjoy the spectacle of pain and 
 the infliction of it. The idea was not pleasant, so Miss 
 Busby would not dwell on it. She was comfortable 
 herself at Beda Close, and wherever you live as a hireling 
 you must take the rough with the smooth and shut your 
 eyes. If she tried to interfere on Peggy's behalf she 
 would be dismissed, and so injure herself without 
 benefiting Peggy. 
 
 Mrs. Butterfield had not been able to see Mrs. Twistle- 
 ton. She had received a message to say that this was
 
 no LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 impossible to-night as Mrs. Twistleton was tired. She 
 had sent another message about Peggy and a doctor, 
 and had received one back through Jordan that virtually 
 told her to mind her own business. As her urgent busi- 
 ness by that time was Mrs. Twistleton's dinner she had 
 to go about it : and as, after all, she knew next to nothing 
 of illness, she did this, with a satisfied mind. She had 
 done her best for the child, who might be better by 
 to-morrow and could have the doctor if she was worse. 
 She was not surprised to hear that Mrs. Twistleton 
 had not gone near Peggy, and had listened with a stony 
 face to Jordan's story and had made no comment on 
 it, but had sent a message about a Dutch sauce that was 
 not to be quite as thick to-night as it had been a night 
 or two ago. When Jordan asked whether he should 
 'phone for the doctor Mrs. Twistleton had said, "Cer- 
 tainly not." 
 
 "I know her," said Mrs. Butterfield, who was very 
 angry about the Dutch sauce. "Sits there like a basilisk 
 and glares at you." 
 
 "What is a basilisk?" asked the kitchen-maid, who 
 was chopping capers for the sauce. 
 
 "Something that glares," said Mrs. Butterfield. "You 
 get those capers as fine as pepper, my girl, and never 
 mind what Mr. Jordan and I are conversing about." 
 
 But when the dinner had been sent up Mrs. Butter- 
 field, tired as she was, went to look at Peggy: and she 
 came downstairs again saying she didn't like the look 
 of her or the sound of her: and that she would clap a 
 poultice on the child's chest before she went to bed. 
 
 "It's taking a good deal on yourself," said Jordan. 
 
 "Not more than I can bear," said the cook. 
 
 She was cross and tired next morning though because 
 she had spent the whole night in Peggy's room, and said 
 as much when Mrs. Twistleton came downstairs to give 
 orders.
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW ill 
 
 "I haven't seen Miss Peggy yet," said Mrs. Twistleton 
 indifferently. "Is her cold worse?" 
 
 The cook felt like glaring then, but her manner was 
 outwardly deferential. 
 
 "I think it is inflammation of the lungs, m'm," she 
 said. "She will probably die if she is neglected much 
 longer." 
 
 A tremor passed over Mrs. Twistleton's face that the 
 cook, watching her, perceived and appreciated. "I've 
 frightened her," she thought to herself : and went on to 
 ask whether she should make some beef-tea in case it 
 was wanted. 
 
 "The first thing to do is to 'phone for the doctor," 
 said Mrs. Twistleton sharply. "Why was I not told 
 before that Miss Peggy was really ill? Oh, yes, I got 
 some message about her being out in the rain, but noth- 
 ing to alarm me. It is a pity there is no one in the 
 house with a little common sense." 
 
 That was the way she talked to Miss Busby too, and 
 to the doctor when he came, and to the nurses. Yes! 
 there were two nurses in the house by next day, and one 
 of them told Miss Busby that if the little girl lived it 
 would be a miracle. But the impudence of it ! said Mrs. 
 Butterfield to Jordan and Dixon. After all that had 
 happened, to turn on them. As if she could take them 
 in! They knew what had happened right enough, and 
 next time Mr. Gerard came to the house Mrs. Butterfield 
 would have a word with him. Indeed, if Mr. Jordan 
 could give her the gentleman's address she would not 
 wait for him to come. She would write to him. 
 
 The letter was posted on a Thursday, and on Friday 
 Mrs. Twistleton received a telegram from Victor to say 
 that he was coming over on business next day. She 
 ordered a room to be got ready for him and went to meet 
 him at Senwick in the car. She did some shopping first 
 so that he could not suppose that she had gone in on
 
 H2 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 purpose to meet him : but she did not explain this. She 
 never embroiled herself in explanations, but left circum- 
 stances to explain themselves, which they usually did, 
 in her favor. She looked handsome and many years less 
 than her age, as she waited in the car: for she did not 
 wear widow's weeds. She wore black furs that were 
 becoming and a fur hat made for her by a Frenchwoman 
 in London who knew just what size and what lines 
 enhanced her looks to the utmost. She had reddened 
 her lips and powdered her face and she wore a veil. She 
 liked the prospect of entertaining Victor now that she 
 was by herself and free. He had not shown himself 
 susceptible yet, but perhaps he would before long. A 
 man who had knocked about the world as he had done 
 must have had experiences and be ready for adventure. 
 He would want to talk business, she supposed, but she 
 did not know what there could be new to say. She had 
 not expected him to come again so soon. Perhaps he 
 had made an excuse to come. 
 
 There he was: the first to get out of the station and 
 carrying his suit-case himself. Quick and energetic in 
 his walk, young, cheerful: a contrast in every way to 
 the dull, dyspeptic old man she had endured for the last 
 five years. It was with a sense of agreeable expectation 
 that she greeted him and made room for him beside her. 
 
 "Everything all right?" he said, as they moved off. 
 
 "Yes," she answered. "Did you have a pleasant 
 journey?" 
 
 "Quite. How is Peggy?" 
 
 "Oh! Peggy . . . your ward, of course. How cor- 
 rect of you to ask after her! I'm sorry to say she 
 is ill." 
 
 "What's the matter?" 
 
 "Pneumonia." 
 
 "How did she get it?" 
 
 "How do people get pneumonia? She was out in
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 113 
 
 the rain: but she had been out in the rain a thousand 
 times and come to no harm. I have two nurses for her. 
 Dr. Jones advised it. They have spread themselves over 
 the whole wing. I detest nurses. But I took Mabel and 
 Miss Busby away because some people think pneumonia 
 is infectious. I don't much believe in it, but one can't 
 be too careful. You are not afraid of it, are you?" 
 "Not in the least," said Victor. "Is Peggy very bad?" 
 "She was yesterday. I've not seen her to-day." 
 Mrs. Twistleton felt discontented and displeased. The 
 occasion was not taking on the character she had an- 
 ticipated: one of friendly intimacy, flattering to herself. 
 The young man had a way of speaking that was sharp 
 and decisive: like his glance and his profile. It was very 
 well when he addressed other people, but she felt the 
 edge of it uncomfortably to-day. Besides, he seemed 
 to be more interested in Peggy than in her, which was 
 absurd. 
 
 "I'll run up and see her," he said directly he arrived, 
 and without asking her permission. 
 
 To be sure he was Peggy's guardian, but that did not 
 make things any better. She hoped he was not going 
 to give trouble.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 POOR Peggy! She lay there gasping for breath, 
 seeing people come and go like shadows, ridden 
 by bad dreams, stabbed by pain. The night and 
 the day before the nurses arrived were still heavy on her 
 mind, haunting it. Once in the night her step-mother 
 had come in silently, had looked at her fixedly and gone 
 out again. Mrs. Butterfield had fallen asleep in her chair 
 and had heard nothing : nor would she believe that Peggy 
 had seen what she had seen. But Peggy knew. Then 
 day came, bringing still worse pain. That had been a 
 time of torment. Mrs. Butterfield was busy downstairs 
 and no one had come near her except her step-mother, 
 who first brought the doctor and then put on a poultice, 
 scalding hot. Peggy had tried to scream, but could only 
 groan. She could not remember much after that. Per- 
 haps she had gone to sleep. She was always hot and 
 thirsty, but there was nothing to drink. Her bed was 
 untidy and uncomfortable, but there was no one to make 
 it. After a long time she waked and saw the nurses 
 looking at her. They were kind and knew how thirsty 
 she was and gave her drinks. They made her bed com- 
 fortable and washed her all over, so that she felt cooler, 
 and they let the fresh air come in at the window. She 
 heard the rain outside and it sent her to sleep. When- 
 ever she waked by day or by night one of the nurses 
 was there and did pleasant little things that made her 
 feel better. They did not talk much : but once when she 
 heard talking she opened her eyes and saw Mr. Gerard : 
 not a dream of him, but the real man, who took her 
 hot hand in his cool one and asked her what she had 
 been doing to herself. She meant to answer him, but 
 
 114
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 115 
 
 she must have fallen asleep without meaning to, for when 
 she opened her eyes again he had gone. She did not 
 mind as much as she would have done if she had been 
 well. She was too weak and sleepy to mind anything 
 except her physical sensations and sometimes her dreams. 
 
 Victor had gone downstairs, anxious, but yet relieved. 
 Peggy was very ill, but she was being well nursed, and 
 the nurse on duty had told him that she had good hope 
 of the child's recovery. He found Mrs. Twistleton sit- 
 ting by the fire, and she reminded him more than ever 
 of a large soft cat that blinks and watches and waits. 
 She was in black, but when she wore black you did not 
 associate it with mourning. Her throat and arms were 
 creamy. The tapestried chair in which she sat made a 
 gorgeous background for her ripe charms, and on a table 
 at her elbow there was a- bowl with orchids as exotic- 
 looking as she was herself. She had a book in her hand 
 when Victor went in, but put it down and waited for him 
 to speak. He did not sit down at first. 
 
 "She is pretty bad," he said. "Poor little thing!" 
 
 "I thought she was better to-night," said Mrs. Twistle- 
 ton. She did not actually yawn, but she managed to 
 look bored without yawning. 
 
 "Have you seen her since you got back?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 She might have done so, for Victor had dressed after he 
 had seen Peggy and before he came downstairs. Even- 
 ing clothes suited him. Rhoda was thinking so, as she 
 watched his profile at times when he was frowning or 
 absorbed. She admired hardness in men. The two she 
 had married had both been wax in her hands and she 
 had wearied of them. This man was younger than she 
 was, but he was not young for his age. He had not lived 
 in cotton wool, keeping himself soft. She hoped he would 
 not want to talk of Peggy all the evening. 
 
 "How did she get the chill?" he asked. He had had
 
 ii6 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 a long rambling letter from Mrs. Butterfield telling him 
 what had occurred, but he could not give her away: and 
 he was curious to hear Mrs. Twistleton's account. How- 
 ever, she did not seem willing to give one. 
 
 "I told you," she said with a touch of impatience. 
 "It rained and Peggy was out in it. She isn't the only 
 child in the world who ever got wet through and suffered 
 for it." 
 
 "I suppose not," said Victor, "but we must take care 
 that it doesn't happen again. Are you satisfied with 
 Miss Busby?" 
 
 "I don't propose to send her away." 
 
 It was difficult. Victor could not lay down the law 
 for Mrs. Twistleton in her own house and he could not 
 remove Peggy without good reason. He managed to 
 see Mrs. Butterfield before he left and told her to write 
 to him whenever she thought it necessary: and when 
 Peggy turned the corner he went over again and arranged 
 that one of the nurses should take her to Grange-over- 
 Sands as soon as she could travel. Mrs. Twistleton 
 thought this unnecessary and said so: but he had his 
 way. Moreover, when he went up to see Peggy he saw 
 the nurse too, and asked her if the child had plenty of 
 warm clothes. "What a thoughtful young man he is," 
 said the nurse to herself, and told him that Peggy had 
 nothing warm to wear at all. 
 
 "How is that?" he said to Peggy, who was on his 
 knee, looking all eyes and colorless. Her hair had been 
 cut close while she was ill and little red-gold curls were 
 beginning to cover her head. 
 
 "She hasn't even a dressing-gown," continued the 
 nurse. "I spoke to Mrs. Twistleton about it but nothing 
 has been done." 
 
 "Give me a list of what you want and measurements," 
 said Victor shortly. He was angry, and he looked it. 
 "Not a young man I should like to cross," thought the
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 117 
 
 nurse, and she began to make the list at once, while 
 Peggy leaned her head on Victor's shoulder and listened 
 to his story of the bear that came to the rubbish-heap 
 near the hotel and got its paw imprisoned in a 
 treacle-tin. 
 
 "When I go to Grange will you come to see me?" 
 she said, directly the story was finished. 
 
 "Why should I? You know I don't like children." 
 
 "Don't you like me?" 
 
 "Not much." 
 
 "I believe you do ... a little. Can I take Dingo to 
 Grange? What is nurse doing? Why is she measuring 
 my arms and legs and my neck?" 
 
 "You'll see before long," said Victor, and directly he 
 got back to Manchester he put the case before his married 
 sister and took her with him to the shops she recom- 
 mended. About a week later the nurse received a letter 
 from him with a key in it, and two days before they 
 were to start for Grange the carrier from Senwick left 
 a neat trunk at the house with Peggy's initials painted 
 on it. Mrs. Butterfield happened to be about when it 
 arrived and had it sent up to Peggy's room. The nurse 
 had told her that it was coming. 
 
 "Your trunk has come," said the nurse, putting her 
 head into the schoolroom where, for the first time since 
 her illness, Peggy sat by the fire with Miss Busby and 
 Mabel. 
 
 "Do you want to see it unpacked ?" 
 
 Of course she did : and so did Miss Busby and Mabel. 
 There was not much room for them all in Peggy's small 
 bedroom, but they squeezed in somehow, and then Mabel 
 asked Peggy if she had known that the trunk was coming. 
 Peggy said she had not known: but she supposed that 
 Mr. Gerard had sent it. 
 
 "How odd of him!" said Mabel. "I wonder if Mother 
 knows about it. I wonder what he has sent. Oh! Oh!
 
 ii8 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 Peggy! I wish I'd been ill. I wish Mr. Gerard was my 
 guardian. I do wonder what Mother will do about it 
 though. She likes us to be plainly dressed." 
 
 From the top till of the trunk the nurse had taken out 
 a long fur coat and a blue quilted silk dressing-gown, 
 both Peggy's size. Then there was a warm traveling- 
 rug, and in a corner a fur cap to match the coat and a 
 pair of fur gloves. Underneath the till there were sets 
 of warm underclothing and stockings all marked with 
 Peggy's name : and at the very bottom of the trunk there 
 were books and two or three games and a big box of 
 chocolates. Mabel began on the chocolates at once, but 
 the nurse took them from her. 
 
 "Everything is to go to Grange," she said; "Mr. 
 Gerard says so in his letter." 
 
 "Mr. Gerard isn't master of the house," said Mabel 
 pertly, and as soon as she could run downstairs to tell 
 her mother of what had happened. 
 
 "It isn't Mr. Gerard's business to buy Peggy's clothes, 
 is it?" she said. 
 
 "He evidently thinks it is." 
 
 "I call it officious, don't you? Besides, Peggy can't 
 go about in a fur coat unless I have one too, can she? 
 I should like one." 
 
 "You won't get one," said Mrs. Twistleton. "I don't 
 like fur coats for children." 
 
 "Shall you let Peggy wear this one?" 
 
 Mrs. Twistleton did not answer, but got rid of Mabel 
 as soon as she could. She was annoyed, but kept her 
 annoyance to herself for the present. While her hus- 
 band had lived he had given her an allowance for the 
 children's clothes and she had spent it nearly all on 
 Mabel and herself. He gave her a great deal for herself 
 but it had never been enough. There was hardly a limit 
 to what she could spend on her own luxuries. Mr. 
 Twistleton had sometimes complained that Peggy went
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 119 
 
 badly shod or shabby, but it had been easy to throw sand 
 in his eyes. Victor Gerard was not going to be so easy. 
 Besides, he had control of Peggy's large fortune. Peggy's 
 large fortune! The thought was insufferable. 
 
 Peggy stayed at Grange till just before Christmas and 
 got fat and rosy there. Victor hardly knew her when he 
 went to see her. She had grown much taller, her face 
 had filled out, and her copper-colored hair was thick and 
 curly again. Two long, slim, black legs beneath a skirt 
 several inches too short danced beside him from the sta- 
 tion up to the hotel, and two eyes, bright with health and 
 youth, smiled at him. He felt pleased with himself. 
 This was his doing. He had not wanted to be any child's 
 guardian, but when he undertook a job it was his way 
 to do it well: at least, as well as he could. His ward 
 was a credit to him except as regards the shortness of 
 her skirts, which he told her at once was scandalous. 
 
 "Nurse did let down the hem and put in a false one. 
 She couldn't do more," said Peggy. "She says I ought 
 to have two new frocks. I have grown so fast that mine 
 are too tight and too short for me. But I daresay I 
 shall get thin again when I go home. Oh dear!" 
 
 "What's the matter, Peggy?" 
 
 "I don't want to go home ever again. Why must 
 I go?" 
 
 "Don't you want to see Mabel ?" 
 
 "Not particularly." 
 
 "And the tarn and the lake and Mrs. Butterfield?" 
 
 "Mrs. Butterfield has gone." 
 
 "Who told you so?" 
 
 "Mabel told me in a letter. I cried." 
 
 "Did she write to you?" 
 
 "Who? Mabel?" 
 
 "No. Mrs. Butterfield." 
 
 Peggy shook her head. "I asked her to when I bid 
 her good-by, but she said she didn't like her letters going
 
 120 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 about. She would be laughed at because she had had 
 no education, except in cooking." 
 
 Victor felt startled and displeased. If Mrs. Butterfield 
 had gone, Peggy had lost her only friend in the house: 
 for he judged the other servants to be occupied with 
 their own affairs and indifferent to her. He wondered 
 what had happened, and was surprised that Mrs. Butter- 
 field had not written to tell him. But a week later he 
 had a letter from her in which she explained what had 
 happened. It all came, she said, through a little pitcher 
 who had long ears and grown-up people who ought to 
 have known better than to talk in front of her. 
 
 "Miss Peggy being away, Miss Mabel took to playing 
 with that Ada Dixon, which never should have been 
 allowed. They were always about together in the garden 
 till they fell out, and then the fat was in the fire as 
 the saying is. Miss Mabel tells Ada her father is only a 
 servant, not being what I call a well-mannered child, 
 really any more than her mother ... as different from 
 Miss Peggy's mother as chalk from cheese. I don't blame 
 Ada either for sticking up for her father. But she 
 should not have rolled Miss Mabel in the road and then 
 sat on her and shouted 'Jezebel!' at her, so that the 
 neighbors came out of their cottages to hear. Jezebel 
 wasn't the end of it neither. She must out with the 
 whole story about her father going back for Miss Peggy, 
 as we know he did, and about my writing to you. How 
 she got hold of that I do not know, but Dixon posts all 
 the letters and I presume took notice, and, like a silly 
 man, told his wife. I was asked about the affair next 
 day and kept my temper, which is more than I can say 
 for her. She was put out and said something about 
 spies in the house and gentlemen not being gentlemen 
 who talked to cooks. I said in that case I had better 
 go, and she said, 'By all means, and Dixon is going
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 121 
 
 too' ... all through that Ada. However, as I tell him, 
 there's as good fish in the sea as ever came out of it, 
 and if she refuses me a character I shall apply to Mr. 
 Twistleton's sister, who never liked her and has known 
 me twenty years. I'm sorry not to see Miss Peggy 
 again, as I held her in. my arms when she was born. 
 Pity you haven't a house of your own. This is no place 
 for her : so no more at present from yours obediently, 
 
 "ELIZABETH BUTTERFIELD." 
 
 Peggy was back at Beda Close when Victor received 
 this letter, and it only wanted a week to Christmas. He 
 thought he would run over in the New Year and see how 
 she was getting on. No doubt he would have done if 
 the gods had not intervened with an urgent summons 
 from Australia that caused him to leave Manchester at 
 once.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE winter lingered and the spring came, and still 
 Peggy flagged. She looked thin and hollow-eyed 
 again, took cold easily and set up a cough that 
 annoyed Mrs. Twistleton. If it came on at lunch she 
 was sent out of the room, and before long it came on 
 at lunch regularly because she was afraid it would. There 
 was no Mrs. Butterfield in the kitchen now, but a new 
 woman who disliked Dingo because he had once stolen 
 a kidney waiting on an open dish in the kitchen fender. 
 She disliked Peggy too, because in her haste to defend 
 Dingo the child had said the dish should not have been 
 on the fender : which was true and offensive. So Peggy 
 had nowhere to go now when she was hungry, and had 
 to wait till tea-time for bread-and-butter. Under these 
 conditions the winter walks were so tiring that when she 
 got back she could not eat much. She wanted to lie 
 down and rest, but this was not allowed after Mrs. 
 Twistleton found her on the sofa at tea-time, and said 
 she would not have such lazy ways. She had begun her 
 cold baths again directly after Christmas, but she never 
 got used to them or felt warm after them. They were 
 a form of torture that she dreaded as she dreaded other 
 things in the daily round: the fits of coughing that left 
 her exhausted, the mockery of lunch, the lessons that 
 stupefied her, and the walks in snow and bitter winds. 
 The new frocks the nurse had recommended had never 
 been bought, and she was not allowed to wear her fur 
 coat because Mrs. Twistleton said it looked ridiculous 
 on a child of her age. Peggy did not dare to answer 
 that she did not mind being ridiculous if only she could 
 
 122
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 123 
 
 be warm. She was supposed to get warm with exercise, 
 she knew, and so she might have done formerly by run- 
 ning races with Dingo. But nowadays when she tried 
 to run she began to cough and got hot with coughing, 
 and after that shivering cold. She was unpopular every- 
 where because of the noise she made with her cough, and 
 that was disconcerting. It gave Miss Busby a headache 
 and worried Mabel while she did her sums. Dingo was 
 the only one who never seemed to mind, even if it shook 
 him when he was in her lap. She was not supposed 
 to have him in her lap because he left white hairs on 
 her black frock, but sometimes she spread a towel for 
 him and let him come. She had endless talks with him, 
 taking both parts in different voices, and her heart was 
 full of love for him in these days when there was no 
 one else to love. The shape of his head gave her pleasure, 
 and so did the expression of his eyes, his velvety ears 
 and his polite tail that would wag even when he was 
 sleepy if he thought she wanted it to wag. No one 
 knew it, but every night when the house was asleep he 
 got out of his basket which was in the corridor and gave 
 a little scratch at Peggy's door. She always heard it 
 and let him in very softly. He spent the rest of the night 
 snuggled under the bedclothes and went back to his 
 basket in the morning when the housemaid came in. She 
 was a good-natured girl and did not tell tales: and he 
 was so clever that he knew he must be in his basket in 
 the early morning. It was deceitful, Peggy knew, and 
 next time she saw Mr. Gerard she meant to ask him if 
 it mattered. The difficulty would be to explain to Dingo 
 if Mr. Gerard said that it did matter, and must not go 
 on. But there would be some way out, and Mr. Gerard 
 would find it : if ever he came again. Peggy had written 
 to him twice but he had not answered. She hoped he 
 had not gone to heaven. She did not ask. She never 
 spoke to her step-mother unless she was spoken to. But
 
 124 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 one cold afternoon in May Mrs. Twistleton found her 
 in the hall putting a letter into the plate where it was 
 usual to put letters for the post. 
 
 "What are you doing here?" she said. 
 
 Peggy held out the third letter she had just written 
 to Victor. Mrs. Twistleton laughed unpleasantly. 
 
 "He won't get it," she said. 
 
 Peggy stared and did not speak. All her spirit and 
 all her ideas seemed to desert her in her step-mother's 
 presence, so that she stood there stupefied and sulky. 
 
 "Don't you know that he has gone to Australia?" 
 
 Peggy felt a queer little pain in her heart, and did not 
 know that she turned as white as a sheet. She wanted 
 to ask whether he would ever come back, but the words 
 died on her lips. She accepted the bad news as a child 
 of her age accepts the inevitable, with despair and with- 
 out understanding. There was no one but Dingo now. 
 Mr. Gerard had left her. 
 
 "I wonder what you write about?" said Mrs. Twistle- 
 ton, and in the child's presence she took the letter out 
 of the envelope. When she had read it she tore it across 
 and threw it into a waste-paper basket. 
 
 "What a little viper you are!" she cried, seizing the 
 child and shaking her fiercely. "Pretending to be ill 
 when there is nothing whatever the matter with you! 
 Go upstairs and stay there. Whine with the dog if you 
 want to whine. You won't see Mr. Gerard again." 
 
 Peggy, dazed and violently shaken, began to cough. 
 She tried desperately, to stop, and suffocated with the 
 effort. Her step-mother gave her a push towards the 
 stairs, and she fell at the foot of the flight in the hall, 
 choked and gasping. Mrs. Twistleton went back into 
 her own room and shut the door. She was furiously 
 angry. Peggy's letter had been childish and impersonal, 
 but every line of it showed that she was unhappy. At 
 Grange she had been happy, and she asked Mr. Gerard
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 125 
 
 to let her go back there. She told him that she loved 
 him and wanted to see him. She loved Dingo too, she 
 said, but Dingo could not talk or laugh. Besides, her 
 frocks were shorter than ever, and her legs were always 
 cold and she wanted new ones . . . frocks, not legs. She 
 was his loving Peggy, and she begged and prayed him 
 to come soon or at any rate to write to her. P.S. 
 The new cook did not like Dingo and Peggy did not like 
 her: so she never went into the kitchen now when she 
 was hungry. 
 
 The postscript made Rhoda angrier than the rest of 
 the letter. It suggested the truth : that Peggy was being 
 deliberately underfed, and the last thing Rhoda desired 
 was to have the truth publicly known. She would not 
 admit, even to herself, that she acted on any system or 
 harbored any definite design against the child. She held 
 her in aversion, partly because she was sensible that 
 Peggy detested her. They reacted on each other evilly 
 and cruelly: the child as terrified of the woman as a 
 small bird is of a serpent: and the woman herself hardly 
 able to keep her hands off a creature wholly in her power 
 and yet shrewd enough to take her measure. There were 
 moments when she knew that she ought to let the child 
 go : that it would have been better for herself to succumb 
 to drink or drugs than to the impulses of which Peggy 
 was the victim. But she believed that she could keep 
 within bounds, or at any rate within the letter of the 
 law. Appearances were often in her favor. Peggy was 
 a troublesome child, requiring discipline. There was 
 room for a considerable difference of opinion as to the 
 best way of treating difficult children. Her cough was 
 troublesome, too. Mabel and Miss Busby both com- 
 plained of it, and had been told to send Peggy out of 
 the room when it came on. Everyone was being told 
 that the family was going abroad this spring, partly for 
 Peggy's sake. A warm place on the Riviera would
 
 126 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 soon set her right, the doctor had said. But Rhoda did 
 not intend to go to the Riviera. There had been con- 
 siderable delay in securing a tenant on a five years' lease 
 for the large, expensive house : so that it would be early 
 in June before they got away. Mrs. Twistleton had not 
 made up her itinerary yet. She wanted to see the Italian 
 towns. It annoyed her to hear other people talk of them 
 while she had not been to them. Besides, Peggy's mother 
 lived in Italy and they might easily come across each 
 other. She dwelt on the idea and wondered what Daphne 
 looked like now and whether she ever thought of her 
 child. 
 
 Peggy had picked herself up and gone back to the 
 schoolroom sick at heart and ill. One thought was upper- 
 most in her mind. She would never see Mr. Gerard 
 again, and he had gone without writing to her or bidding 
 her good-by. It must be true because he had not written. 
 They were all going away too before long, and he would 
 not know what had become of her. They were going 
 to Italy. Miss Busby said so, and she harped on Peggy's 
 luck and the gratitude she ought to feel. Whenever she 
 did not get on well with her lessons she was told that 
 she did not deserve to go to Italy, and when she coughed 
 she was reminded that she must not make a noise like 
 that in trains and hotels. Miss Busby had finished her 
 pink jumper and was beginning a new blue one. She 
 was having a serge coat and skirt made in Manchester 
 and a new cotton frock in Senwick. Mabel was excited 
 about her clothes too, and was going out of mourning. 
 So the black things she had worn all the winter were 
 to be tidied up and altered for Peggy. In the schoolroom 
 after lessons nothing was talked of now but clothes and 
 Italy: and Miss Busby was trying to teach herself a little 
 Italian, because, she said, it might come in useful if they 
 were suddenly surrounded by bandits. 
 "What are bandits?" asked Peggy.
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 127 
 
 "Robbers with long mustaches and short cloaks : and 
 with knives and revolvers stuck in their belts. They seize 
 you when you are out for a walk and keep you in a 
 mountain fastness till your friends pay a ransom." 
 
 "What happens if you have no friends?" 
 
 "They kill you." 
 
 Peggy did not feel as much frightened as she would 
 have done formerly by such a picture : chiefly because 
 her vitality was at a lower ebb. When your head aches 
 and your cough hurts you and leaves you bruised and 
 weak you do not care what happens in a mountain fast- 
 ness in a foreign land, even if you yourself are soon 
 going there. You are absorbed by your bodily sensations 
 and dully miserable. Besides, it was possible that bandits 
 were not as black as they were painted. They might 
 turn out like Robin Hood. As long as they did not 
 kill Dingo ... a new unbearable idea swept every other 
 from Peggy's mind. 
 
 "Shall I be able to take Dingo to Italy?" she asked. 
 
 Miss Busby and Mabel both laughed at her. How 
 silly she was ! Mrs. Twistleton would not have the dog 
 in the same room with her. Was it likely that she would 
 be burdened with him on a journey? Besides, dogs were 
 not easily conveyed from one country to another. There 
 were questions of quarantine. Miss Busby could tell 
 Peggy what the word meant but not how it was enforced 
 in the current year. It did not matter. She might be 
 sure that, irrespective of quarantine, Dingo would be 
 left behind. 
 
 "Could I be left behind?" said Peggy. 
 
 "Not if you are good," said Miss Busby perfunctorily. 
 She was thinking about the blue jumper and wondering 
 whether she should start a green one when it was finished. 
 She might take some wool with her. She had never 
 traveled and did not know what hotel life would be like. 
 Would she have time on her hands, or would she "mix
 
 128 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 in society" more than she did at Beda Close, where she 
 was comfortable but lonely? Even if she only found 
 another governess to make friends with it would be 
 cheering: and there might be various people . . . men 
 as well as women, on expeditions and in gardens and 
 galleries . . . opportunities, in short, that were denied 
 to her at home. No doubt Mrs. Twistleton would be 
 exacting and inconsiderate, but. .... She did not know 
 exactly where they were going. Mrs. Twistleton, who 
 hardly ever spoke to her except to give orders, had not 
 told her. The journey presented itself to her mind 
 vaguely as a continental trip, an experience of varying 
 values. Even if she did not enjoy it much she could 
 talk about it, and probably she would enjoy some things. 
 She wished that Peggy could have been left behind. It 
 had been comfortable in the schoolroom while Peggy was 
 ill and away. She did not dislike the child, but she dis- 
 liked the wear and tear of her cough. Besides, it was 
 unpleasant to see her treated badly and impossible to 
 interfere. If she had tried to interfere she would have 
 been sent away, like Mrs. Butterfield, and that had done 
 Peggy no good. Mabel had told Miss Busby everything 
 that Ada Dixon had said, and it showed what the servants 
 in the house and out of it were saying to each other. 
 Perhaps that was why Mrs. Twistleton had decided to 
 let the house and go abroad. She would not want a 
 scandal. Miss Busby hoped that the publicity of life 
 when traveling would act as a check: but she did not 
 feel certain. Besides, Peggy was often to blame. In- 
 deed, it seemed as if a very devil of naughtiness pos- 
 sessed the child for the next week or two. She did 
 everything that she ought not to have done and nothing 
 that was expected of her. She did heinous things so 
 that Mabel looked on amazed and Miss Busby scolded 
 till she was hoarse. Her lessons were never prepared, 
 her hair was never tidy. She chattered when she should
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 129 
 
 have been silent, she banged doors, she was pert. One 
 day she put out her tongue at Miss Busby. She was 
 impishly rude to Mabel and, as if she asked for punish- 
 ment, upset the ink over one of her step-sister's new 
 frocks. The punishment was administered, as she might 
 have known it would be, by Mrs. Twistleton herself. 
 When it was over she tore through the schoolroom like 
 a fury, with two pink patches on her cheeks, her eyes 
 heavy with tears, and coughing as she ran. She wore 
 neither a hat nor a coat, but she called to Dingo and 
 he followed her. Mabel tried to intercept her and re- 
 ceived a shove that would have upset her if she had been 
 less solid. Miss Busby wondered what was going to 
 happen next and went to the window to see. An in- 
 coherent exclamation of amazement and dismay soon 
 called Mabel to her side. 
 
 "She is like a mad thing," said Miss Busby helplessly. 
 "What is to be done?" 
 
 For, just as if Peggy really had gone mad for the 
 moment, she was dancing round a bed of tulips and 
 inciting Dingo to tear through them. Their brittle stalks 
 and broad leaves lay in ruin in his wake, and still Peggy 
 capered and called to him. They could hear her as well 
 as see her, for Miss Busby had thrown open a window 
 and was trying to attract her attention. But while she 
 did so a shot from a rifle startled her. She looked at 
 Mabel and Mabel looked at her. They both felt sick. 
 Dingo was only a dog, but to have him killed before 
 their eyes ! Besides, he was not quite dead. He wriggled. 
 And then Peggy screamed. It was horrible.
 
 PART II 
 
 OUTLAW 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 DAPHNE had put off her mourning. The heat had 
 come to Siena suddenly this spring and she startled 
 Andrea Sarzoni by coming into the room in a 
 blue dress, the blue of the Virgin, but diaphanous and 
 uncovering her lovely throat. Never, never would he 
 forget that moment. He could not speak at first, but 
 gazed at her with rapt eyes, as if she was music. He 
 had always seen her in black, and had associated her 
 with sorrow. She was alone, she was quiet, and the 
 expression of her face was set in sadness because she 
 had lost her husband and her child. So much he had 
 known about her for a long time, and the other things he 
 knew had grown into his consciousness gradually as he 
 gave her lessons. She loved music, and when she was 
 playing or listening she forgot everything except the 
 exquisite joy of harmonies. She had a low, penetrating 
 voice that pleased his critical ear, and she had a nature 
 as beautiful as her incomparably beautiful face. Her 
 beauties, both bodily and spiritual, stole upon a man un- 
 awares. They were not for the market-place. He could 
 imagine that the crowd would pass them by. But he 
 drank them in as a sick man drinks in sunshine and 
 without any hope of return ; he worshiped her. She 
 did not know it. At least, she did not know that she 
 had become the passion and the consolation of his life: 
 one with his music, which, before she came, had been 
 
 131
 
 132 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 his all. For he had neither wife nor child, nor worldly 
 goods nor many friends. 
 
 Daphne had been a widow for nearly five years now. 
 Her second marriage had not lasted long. When she 
 left Manchester with Major Coverdale he had taken her 
 straight to Italy, had made her his wife as soon as the 
 law allowed and had loved her to the end. But the end 
 had come quickly. When war broke out he was recalled 
 at once, and died gallantly at Ypres breathing her name 
 as he died. She got the news of his death in Rome and 
 stayed on there, partly from the inertia that sometimes 
 accompanies grief, and partly because she did not know 
 where else to go. She found that Major Coverdale had 
 left her everything he had and that she would have 
 enough and to spare in future. At first, the lawyers' 
 letters explaining her position amazed and troubled her. 
 She had never owned and handled money : she had never 
 been an independent woman, and as she had been at- 
 tached to the dead man it distressed her to stand in his 
 shoes. Then, when Italy entered into the war, she found 
 work to do and opportunities of using money that made 
 her thankful to possess it. She had spared neither her 
 strength nor her resources, and when peace came she 
 felt worn out and old. Rome tired her. England did 
 not call her yet. Almost by chance she drifted to Siena 
 and stayed on there because it gave her rest. She took 
 a small flat, furnished it simply, and expected to run 
 out her days there: for she had forgotten that she was 
 young. She made one or two friends, but not many. 
 The everlasting procession of English and American 
 tourists passing through Siena never got to know her. 
 She shrank from her countryfolk and from her kinsmen 
 across the seas because her own history weighed on her 
 mind. She could never tell which of them would shrink 
 from her when they knew that she was a divorced wife 
 and the mother of a child she might not see. Soon after
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 133 
 
 her flight from Manchester, and before her second mar- 
 riage, she had had encounters that still scarred her 
 memory. So she lived apart with her music and her 
 books, mourning for her lover and her child. The ex- 
 pression of her face was wistful, as if she was seeking 
 and could not find. Her mouth had appeal in its gentle 
 lines. "She is like my Madonna," thought Andrea, "my 
 own Madonna, who is the most beautiful Madonna in 
 the world: but she would not look so sad if she could 
 carry her child in her arms." 
 
 He forgot that ten years had passed since Daphne's 
 child had been born, and when he thought of her sorrow 
 he pictured her with the baby girl she had told him of 
 and described. She had never spoken of Peggy to any- 
 one else because it would have been impossible to do 
 so without telling her own story. But one day she had 
 met Andrea in the gallery that was the home of his 
 Madonna and they had looked at her together for a 
 long time. Then with the simplicity of statement and 
 allusion that was natural to him he had said to Daphne: 
 
 "You would look down at your child as she does. You 
 are like her. But you have no child." 
 
 And Daphne answered him, "I have a child." 
 
 The trouble in her voice and eyes had warned him 
 that he was on difficult ground and he had said no more. 
 But one day when they were sitting together after a 
 lesson she had told him why she was separated from her 
 child and how badly she wanted her. 
 
 "When people die you cannot trouble about them," 
 she said. "It is not in your hands. You grieve, but 
 you believe it is well. But a child ... a little living 
 child . . . how am I to know that she is well and happy 
 . . . that she is brought up as she should be? Besides, 
 I want her ... I want her more than anything in the 
 world. I dream that her arms are round my neck. She 
 used to sit in my lap and I sang her to sleep. Every
 
 134 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 night I used to bathe her myself. There were dear little 
 creases in her arms and legs and her hair shone like 
 copper. If I thought I could see her I would go to 
 England and wait in the road till she passed by. Some- 
 times I think I will. Perhaps she has forgotten me. But 
 if I could only see her. . . ." 
 
 So, henceforward, Andrea knew why Daphne was sad 
 and lonely, although she possessed so much that the 
 world prizes: and as their friendship grew he came to 
 understand more and more about the simplicity and 
 tenderness of her nature and to wish that some sudden 
 turn of fate would give her back her child. He was 
 not a fortunate man himself from the outside point of 
 view. He earned his bread by giving lessons, and it was 
 hardly earned : for his temper was quick and most of 
 his pupils incapable. He was grotesque to look at : under- 
 sized and with one shoulder higher than the other. His 
 eyes were sorrowful and kind when he was not playing: 
 eyes you often see in Tuscan faces. But when he took 
 up his violin they became rapt. You knew then that 
 he was too happy in his music to be reckoned an unhappy 
 man : and that in spite of his poverty he must have the 
 force of character that inspires work and grows with it. 
 For no one could play as he did who had not worked: 
 and no weakling work steadily. Do not, therefore, see 
 him as a sentimental creature, dissolving in a hopeless 
 passion: soft and tiresome. It was the manhood in him 
 that was stirred by Daphne. He fumed and fretted be- 
 cause he could not get her the moon if she wanted it: 
 and came to such a pass for her sake that he began to 
 ask himself why in the world he sat here doing nothing. 
 
 When she came into the room in her blue dress his 
 heart leapt against his side and at first he did not speak. 
 She was as beautiful as a flower, and she looked happier 
 than usual to-day because the summer had come, and 
 because, at last, she had put off her mourning. She
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 135 
 
 came in with a little hurry of movement that he had not 
 often seen in her: and when she smiled he could imagine 
 what her April face must have been before shame and 
 sorrow clouded it. She sat down at once to the piano 
 and they began to play. If her playing did not please 
 him he stopped her and they took the passage over and 
 over again. This happened several times to-day with 
 the first movement of the Kreutzer Sonata, which she had 
 practiced by herself but not with him. He was incom- 
 parably the finer musician of the two, but she had sym- 
 pathy and patience. She was never slovenly or facile, 
 and he knew that music stirred her to the depths. So 
 he was never tired of playing with her, and the lesson 
 always prolonged itself far beyond its supposed limit of 
 an hour. On this account he gave her the last lesson in 
 the day, when he was not obliged to go on to other pupils, 
 and so, lately, she had often asked him to stay and dine 
 with her. When he did this they played again after 
 dinner and late into the night. She spoke Italian fluently 
 and well, and they had long talks when they were not 
 playing : talks about music and musicians, about the books 
 she read or sometimes more intimate talks about them- 
 selves. He had never been so happy or so much at ease 
 in his life as in her company. Her dainty surroundings 
 gave him pleasure and, as he was very human, so did 
 her dinners, which had the excellence that seems simple 
 and is costly. At least, everything she had was costly 
 compared with what he could buy in these hard times. 
 A roast chicken and that curious sauce made of bread 
 that the English like and that she had taught her cook 
 how to make: and with the chicken, peas and new pota- 
 toes : and before the chicken asparagus, and after it great 
 juicy cherries : and a flask of good Chianti ! He did not 
 keep house but he knew what such things cost. She 
 gave him a cup of strong black coffee after his dinner, 
 too, though she did not drink it herself and said it was
 
 136 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 bad for him: and a little glass of Benedictine because 
 he had once said that he liked it. A woman who had 
 two sides to her: one, with music, in the skies: and 
 one on earth, liking to pet people and give them the 
 little earthly comforts that affect the body and, by way 
 of the body, the soul. She should have been the mother 
 of children. She should be restored to her child. 
 
 This evening, after dinner, they sat out for a time in 
 the little garden that belonged to her flat and was high 
 above the street. For, as Siena is built on three steep 
 hills, you find these little gardens at various heights, and 
 you can look up at them from the parched stony ways 
 in which you walk below. Daphne's garden had a big 
 cherry-tree in it, heavy with fruit; a lemon and a fig 
 against a wall ; a pear-tree that had set its fruit already ; 
 a Paulonia on which there had been a cloud of ethereal 
 mauve flowers in April ; the usual big palms, some yuccas, 
 and in between a little unkempt grass. Some of the 
 plants were in big tubs, but the trees thrust their roots 
 into the red soil of the city and prospered. A half -moon 
 shone on them to-night, and the little breeze that blew 
 to them from the hills was bland and warm. 
 
 "It is a paradise," said Andrea. 
 
 It was: but Daphne's heart was in England to-night. 
 Ten days of steady, relentless heat had set her thoughts 
 running on English seas breaking on English shores, on 
 the scent of seaweed and salt spray and on a wind that 
 had a bite in it. For nearly six years she had been an 
 exile, and she expected to live and die one. But every 
 now and then some memory or some poignant contract 
 would make her home-sick. If she could have gone with 
 Peggy 
 
 Up the beach by the sandy down 
 Where the sea-stocks bloom, to the white-walled town. 
 Through the narrow paved streets, where all was still, 
 To the little gray church on the windy hill.
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 137 
 
 "But I want to go home," she said. "I want my 
 child." 
 
 "Could you have her if you went home?" 
 
 Daphne shook her head and smiled slightly as she 
 looked down at her lap which was encircled by her 
 arms: for her hands were clasped upon her knees. She 
 saw her baby sitting there and looking up at her face as 
 the bambino in his picture looked up at his Madonna. 
 Andrea knew what was in her mind. 
 
 "There is a well-known English story of a mother 
 who . . . who lost her children as I lost my child. . . . 
 Not in the same way ... I would not have left my 
 child for anyone in the world. . . . How can any woman ? 
 But it happened, and she went back into the house 
 disguised as an old woman and was governess to her 
 own children. I have sometimes thought that if I could 
 do that. . . ." 
 
 "A very evil idea," said Andrea firmly. "Most incon- 
 venient and disagreeable for you. If you want your 
 child you must have her: but she must come here." 
 
 "That," said Daphne with a sigh, "that is impossible." 
 
 "Not at all," said Andrea. "Some things are impos- 
 sible: but to bring a child from England to Italy is 
 easy." 
 
 "She would not be allowed to come." 
 
 "Many things are done every day that are not allowed." 
 
 "I cannot set myself against the law . . . that I have 
 offended. You might as well set a fly to wreck the 
 Dnomo. English law is hard and strong." 
 
 "Then don't try to fight it. Ignore it." 
 
 "How can I?" 
 
 "Take what is yours. Nature is stronger than law." 
 
 "I would if I could," said Daphne. 
 
 "You want her much . . . very much?" 
 
 "More than anything in the world." 
 
 "Does she know it? Do you write to her?"
 
 138 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 Daphne's eyes widened with surprise and had bitter 
 lights in them that he had never seen before. 
 
 "I am not allowed to write," she said. "I am not 
 allowed to see her or even to know that she is well and 
 happy. My husband married a woman I distrust and 
 dislike. He is dead now and my child is in her power. 
 I daren't think of it much. If I did I should go crazy. 
 I once saw that woman beat her own child in a fit of 
 rage. I shall never forget it." 
 
 Daphne had turned sick and white with the stress of 
 what she was saying and with the horror of that memory. 
 
 "Think not of such wickedness," said Andrea with a 
 shudder. "A woman who is cruel to a child must be a 
 devil. Che Iddio la castighi! but you must have your 
 bambina."
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 ANDREA SARZONI prided himself on being a man 
 of action. When he had made up his mind he 
 went to work. He had saved a little money, he 
 had certain influential friends, and he wanted to see 
 Daphne with her child in her arms. It was always the 
 finished picture that prevailed in his mind and not the 
 intermediate steps to it. Daphne could not be happy 
 because she was separated from her child, and there 
 was nothing in the world that mattered so much to 
 Andrea as her happiness. Evidently, then, he must go 
 to England and get the child for her. It was awkward. 
 Decidedly it was awkward. He spoke a little English, 
 but not much. He knew the child's name and address, 
 but little else about her. There would be difficulties. 
 There might be failure. In that case Daphne would be 
 no worse off than before: while if he succeeded! The 
 picture of her with her baby on her lap dazzled him. 
 
 "But the child must be ten years old !" he cried, and 
 was pleased with himself for thinking of it. But he had 
 always been a practical man, methodical and energetic. 
 He was not embarking on an absurd, romantic adven- 
 ture. Far from it. He did not rush off headlong as 
 your young fool would have done. In silence, and with 
 great care, he made his preparations. The English 
 climate was cold and wet. Everyone knew it. He bought 
 a warm traveling- rug, packed his winter clothes and 
 ordered a new pair of strong boots. He secured his 
 passport. He took his ticket to London and two letters 
 of introduction, one to a highly-placed person in the 
 Italian Embassy who would help him with his passport 
 on his return, and one to the proprietor of a small
 
 I 4 o LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 restaurant in Soho who would either put him up or tell 
 him where to lodge cheaply. It would be an expensive 
 business, and sometimes the little devil of doubt who 
 stops enterprise would whisper in his ear that he was 
 going to be a fool for his pains. Money as hardly and 
 slowly earned as his should not be spent lightly: dis- 
 sipated in a quest that it was not his business to under- 
 take. But then perhaps he would see Daphne again and 
 be reminded of her empty days by some word she spoke, 
 or even by some turn of her head or glance of her eyes. 
 To think that she should be as lonely as he was himself ! 
 He was a man and could bear it: and for him it was 
 bad enough at times. Besides, his music was more to 
 him than music could ever be to her. Also, he was 
 getting old and he was ugly. To see a woman as young 
 and lovely as Daphne with that wistful look in her eyes 
 and about her mouth stirred every tender impulse that 
 his maimed life left unsatisfied. She could never give 
 him her adorable self because he was old and poor and 
 ugly: but if he could give her her child she would be 
 happy and it would rejoice him to see it. He would be 
 a friend to the child too. So he dreamed and planned, 
 the quixotic little man : and when the time came set 
 out for the unknown, having told his pupils that he was 
 taking a fortnight's holiday. He did not say a word to 
 Daphne, but dined with her the night before he started 
 and astutely led their talk after dinner to the north of 
 England, and to her first husband's home there. When 
 she spoke of it by name he said he could not follow her 
 and asked her to write down the name for him. Then 
 he tried to pronounce the name after her, but the scrap 
 of paper on which she wrote it he put in his pocket. 
 
 He got to London easily, found his compatriots in 
 Soho and saw the personage at the Italian Embassy, who 
 received him graciously. In Tuscany Andrea had a re- 
 spected and well-known name as a musician, and when
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 141 
 
 he explained that he had come partly on business con- 
 nected with concerts in London there seemed no reason 
 to doubt him. When he showed his passport and said 
 that on his return journey he would possibly have a child 
 of ten with him who had lost her father and was going 
 to a relation in Siena the way was easily made smooth 
 for him. The child of ten was entered on his passport 
 as his traveling companion in the proper office, and noth- 
 ing remained for him to do after that except to get her. 
 He left London a week after he had left Siena and 
 traveled to Senwick with some maiden ladies who prided 
 themselves on their perspicacity and took him for an 
 anarchist of the most dangerous kind. He looked like 
 it to them. His long, curly hair, his deformed shoulder, 
 his brigand's cloak with its astrakhan collar, his rapt 
 eyes, his incomprehensible English, and the cheap suit- 
 case he carried, as well as his violin, all made them 
 uncomfortable, and so did some sandwiches wrapped 
 in newspaper and made with sausage flavored strongly 
 with garlic that he ate for his lunch. Their sandwiches 
 were wrapped in white paper and flavored with nothing 
 at all, and they drank hot tea out of a Thermos flask. 
 In the tunnels they sat bolt upright and on the alert 
 for the least movement on Andrea's part, for though 
 it was a corridor train and therefore comparatively safe, 
 he might be going to blow up the train or creep out of 
 the compartment and stab his victim. One never knew 
 with these people. However, the day passed and nothing 
 worse happened than the pervasive smell of garlic at 
 lunch-time : and by degrees the elder lady, watching him 
 whenever he shut his eyes, decided that he had a harmless 
 face and was probably a musician on his way to some 
 little post in an orchestra. He did not look to her pros- 
 perous enough for anything better than an orchestra. 
 Just before they reached Senwick, having ransacked her 
 memory for one or two phrases learned long ago at
 
 142 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 school, she asked him if he was Italian, and was an- 
 swered by a flood of words in a language she did not 
 understand. Still, she made out the word "Siena" several 
 times, and when he stopped talking she pointed her finger 
 at him and said "Siena" in an interrogative voice while 
 her weaker-minded sister gaped at her courage and her 
 intelligence. It was just like Sophia Pinkney to be talk- 
 ing Italian to an unknown foreign anarchist and asking 
 him his business. For Sophia was now pointing to the 
 violin and saying "musica" in a loud clear voice: and 
 the queer little man was looking at her with the grateful 
 eyes of a dog and chattering some tongue that was not 
 in the least like the three Italian songs she, Agatha, had 
 learnt in her youth. However, he was assiduous in 
 assisting them with their hand luggage when they reached 
 Senwirk, and to their surprise descended there himself. 
 They had a fly waiting for them and drove off rather 
 hurriedly, leaving him looking rather desolate just out- 
 side the station. But they did not wish to pursue the 
 acquaintance. 
 
 Andrea had no Italian friends in Senwick, but he 
 found a humble-looking little inn, secured supper and a 
 bedroom there, and next day managed to make the land- 
 lord understand that he wanted to get to Beda Close 
 on Hallinwater. He knew his own lakes and he had 
 bought a map of the English ones in London, so he 
 was able to point when he could not explain. The land- 
 lord sent his little boy to put the foreigner on the coach ; 
 from the coach Andrea got to the steamer, and on the 
 steamer he saw the two ladies he had traveled with 
 yesterday. To their horror he approached them and took 
 off his hat: which showed that he was no gentleman 
 and pushing: and to their amazement he asked them 
 if they knew a house called Beda Close. Certainly they 
 knew it. They had been at Mrs. Twistleton's party in 
 the summer when poor Mr. Twistleton looked so ill and
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 143 
 
 
 
 when that queer, unkempt step-child had made an un- 
 pleasant impression by rushing across the lawn, wet 
 through, in pursuit of the dog that killed the cat. But 
 what could this wandering Italian have to do there, unless 
 he was going to tune the pianos, or regulate the clocks ? 
 which was unlikely. Sophia answered freezingly that 
 the house was not in sight yet, and though Andrea did 
 not understand what she said, he easily understood that 
 he was not wanted. So he sat down a good way off, 
 looked at the scenery and thought about Daphne. Now 
 that his quest was near its end fulfillment looked less 
 possible than ever. The steamer passed large houses 
 set in woods and gardens. How was he to approach the 
 one he wanted, the locked casket holding Daphne's jewel? 
 Would she be guarded by dragons like those two who 
 had just snubbed him: women of a certain age, with 
 enormous teeth, and dressed to frighten rather than to 
 charm? It was a type well known to Andrea. It was 
 to be seen any day in Siena carrying a red Baedeker 
 and gazing earnestly at this and that in the streets and 
 churches. When they had hard chins and high voices 
 and were well dressed they were Americans: but they 
 were all earnest. Some were amiable: some were dis- 
 agreeable like the two scarecrows opposite. One of them 
 was making signs to him. What did she want? He 
 crossed over and she flapped a gloved, bony hand at a 
 large house 'on the left-hand shore of the lake. 
 
 "That," she said, "is Beda Close. You must get out 
 here if you want to go there." 
 
 Then, by turning to her sister, she intimated that she 
 had nothing more to say to Andrea, and he, after lifting 
 his hat to her politely, picked up his violin and went 
 ashore. But before landing he managed to make out that 
 the steamer would call there on its return journey at 
 six o'clock. So he had three hours before him. No 
 one else had got off the steamer when he did, and he
 
 144 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 found himself quite alone in a country road. He walked 
 on until he came to a gate opening into a private drive, 
 but there was no name to it so he could not be sure that 
 it led to the house he wanted. As he had plenty of time 
 before him he opened it and walked on. He had no 
 definite plan. If he could find out where Peggy lived 
 and gain speech of her it would be something. Even if 
 he had to go back without her he would be able to give 
 Daphne a message and a picture : more than she had 
 had for years. It was very quiet in this garden. There 
 seemed to be no one about. How orderly it was and 
 how spacious ! Trees and shrubs grew on either side as 
 if they liked the climate. Some of the big fir trees he 
 knew because they grew them in Siena on the Lizza. 
 In some places there were primroses. But he saw no 
 cypresses, no olives, and no figs or palms. He missed 
 them and he missed the sunshine. All the morning it 
 had rained and everything was dripping wet. Now it 
 was not raining, but the skies were gray and the wind 
 cold. He shivered and he felt hungry. On what a 
 fool's errand he had come, and what a long way he was 
 from home! Nevertheless, his will and his feet took 
 him forward although his doubts and his desires drove 
 him back: and after walking about half a mile a bend 
 in the drive brought him in full view of the house. It 
 was the one the English woman had shown him from the 
 steamer. It was the home of Daphne's child. From 
 where he stood he could see the door which was at one 
 end of the house, and by going on a little he got a side 
 view of the front that faced the lake and had a lawn and 
 a flower garden going down to the water. 
 
 "But it is a paradise," the little man said to himself 
 with a sigh. "When the sun shines it must truly be a 
 paradise. I will sit down here and look at it. I will sit 
 behind a big tree and no one will know I am there." 
 
 He sat down behind a big fir tree and ate the remains
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 145 
 
 of yesterday's sandwiches which he had brought with 
 him. Then he lighted a cigarette and smoked it. If 
 he had been in Italy he would have felt sleepy and had 
 a nap. But it was too chilly and uncomfortable for that 
 in this English garden. The house looked dead to him 
 although some of the windows were open. But no sounds 
 came from it and no one moved outside. Soon he would 
 have to go back on the steamer having done nothing 
 but stare like a zany at a lifeless house. Certainly he 
 could go to the door, ring the bell, and perhaps on some 
 pretext get inside: or he could look for some of the out- 
 door servants and get into communication with them. 
 Those were the obvious ways of approach, and perhaps 
 to-morrow. . . . 
 
 The front door was thrown open and a small white 
 dog followed by a child rushed down the steps and into 
 the garden, both as quick and as light as straws in the 
 wind. The child was thin and lanky, with short skirts 
 and red, ungloved hands. She wore a black tam-o'- 
 shanter crammed on her copper-colored hair, and on her 
 way she had to stop for a fit of coughing. Then she 
 ran on again, calling the dog as she went, and to Andrea's 
 amazement sent it through a fine bed of tulips on the 
 lawn. But a naughty child ! An evil child ! Never had 
 he seen a child behave in such a manner. The beautiful 
 flowers were being broken. Their stalks snapped where 
 the dog ran, light and quick though he was. Yet again 
 the child ran round the bed and even across it. Such 
 a spirit of destruction he could not understand. From 
 where he stood now he could see her small face, pinched 
 and desperate. Now she stood still to cough again, and 
 the dog stood still too, looking up at her and wagging 
 his tail. As he stood so, as Andrea watched him, a shot 
 from the house burst for one startling moment into the 
 silence of the afternoon. The dog fell dead upon the 
 ground at the feet of the little girl.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 THE child gave a cry that rent Andrea's heart and 
 flung herself upon the ground beside the dog, call- 
 ing to it pitifully. Andrea could not hear the 
 name clearly, and from where he stood he could not 
 make out whether the dog had been killed outright or 
 was still alive. He had seen it give a little leap into the 
 air and then fall like a stone. He expected the sound of 
 the shot and of the child's wailing cry to bring other 
 people on the scene, and he knew that if he was not to 
 be discovered he ought to go at once. But he could not 
 make up his mind to go. What he had seen and heard 
 mystified him. The orderly garden, the quiet, opulent- 
 looking house, and then as sudden as lightning this 
 tragedy ! Certainly it was only a dog that had been 
 killed, and the child was a naughty child, but to see her 
 misery and her tears was more than Andrea could bear. 
 If no one came he must try and comfort her, and if she 
 was the child he wanted he would ask her to come with 
 him: but he hoped she was not that child. He had 
 pictured himself traveling back to Italy with a little angel 
 of humility and goodness, clothed in immaculate white 
 like the summer children on the Lizza and as easy to 
 manage as a plaster saint. This child, now coming towards 
 him, the dog in her arms, her eyes blinded by tears, her 
 clothes in disarray, was not in the least like the bambina 
 he wanted to place in Daphne's arms. But how the poor 
 creature coughed! How ill she looked: how thin and 
 miserable ! He left the shelter of his tree, went a little 
 way further towards the house and met the child with 
 her dog. There was still no one about. 
 
 146
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 147 
 
 "Peggy !" he said at a venture. 
 
 The child was so surprised by his appearance, by his 
 oddity, and by the fact that he knew her name that for 
 a moment she stopped crying. He seemed to have sprung 
 out of the earth in the moment of her great affliction, 
 and, odd-looking as he was, she could see by his eyes 
 that he was kind and felt sorry for her. 
 
 "He is dead!" she wailed, and flung herself on the 
 ground again with the dog. "He doesn't move. He 
 doesn't hear me. Dingo . . . Dingo !" 
 
 Andrea knelt on the ground too and stroked the dog's 
 head. 
 
 "He was very beautiful," he said. "He was your 
 friend?" 
 
 Peggy had never heard a foreigner speak English be- 
 fore and she could only just make out what Andrea said: 
 but she was beginning to like him, although his cloak and 
 his hair were frightening. She thought he must be a 
 vagrant musician, and she wondered why he had a violin 
 with him instead of a barrel-organ. 
 
 "Have you got a dog or a monkey?" she asked. 
 
 He shook his head and glanced uneasily at the door of 
 the house. He felt sure that someone would come out 
 soon and take Peggy away from him, and then his whole 
 scheme would topple in ruins like a house of cards. If 
 only he could have picked her up and carried her away ! 
 But that was impossible : and he was as much afraid to 
 hurry her as if she had been a bird ready for flight at the 
 least alarm. 
 
 "I have a cat," he said. 
 
 "Dingo hated cats," said Peggy, beginning to sob again. 
 "He killed them if he could." 
 
 "E proprio verof" murmured Andrea, who only half 
 followed what Peggy said and wanted to seize the in- 
 credible luck chance had put in his way. 
 
 "I must fetch a spade and dig his grave," said
 
 148 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 > * 
 > 
 
 Peggy, her tears streaming down her woe-begone little 
 face. 
 
 "I will help you," said Andrea ; "and if you will come 
 a long way from the house where no one will hear us 
 I will play a funeral march over his grave." 
 
 "On your violin?" 
 
 Andrea nodded. 
 
 "We will come to Low Tarn," said Peggy. "No one 
 will hear us there," and she led the way through woods 
 to the wild and lonely tarn where Dingo had loved to 
 swim and she to row. It looked somber and desolate 
 to-day and she shivered with cold as they approached it. 
 A little way back they had passed a gardening shed with 
 tools, and first placing poor Dingo tenderly on the ground 
 she had gone in and found a spade. The condition 
 she was in distressed Andrea terribly. She was breaking 
 her little heart over her dog and her emaciated body 
 was shaken by her cough as well as by her sobs. But 
 she would not let him carry the dog for her. She 
 wanted to feel the soft fur of his head against her cheek 
 from time to time, and to talk to him though he could 
 not hear. When they reached the edge of the tarn, and 
 stood amongst the tangle of dead bracken and springing 
 weeds that fringed its brim, she stood there for a mo- 
 ment, looking silently at its opal waters, the image of 
 despair. Andrea guessed that she was invoking mem- 
 ories in which her dead playmate had a share and did 
 not disturb her. When she turned away to find a place 
 amongst the trees for a grave he followed her, and when 
 she stopped he put down his violin, took off his long 
 cloak and dug a hole for her. Then, before putting the 
 dog in, he lined it with leaves and little branches and 
 had other leaves ready for a covering. He collected 
 them with care, choosing some of last year's that were 
 still golden and some from the tips of larches that were 
 a tender green : and as he performed this work of mercy
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 149 
 
 for her the child watched him in wonder. She saw that 
 he was deformed and altogether odd-looking, but his 
 kindness was like balm. It was a black moment when 
 Dingo had to be lowered into the hole, but Andrea would 
 not spin it out. He persuaded the child to let him take 
 the dog from her, he buried it slowly, and then taking his 
 violin from its case he began to play. While he did so 
 his eyes were as rapt as if he saw invisible choirs playing 
 in unison with him, and Peggy, watching him, thought 
 that he had forgotten her and Dingo and everything 
 except his music. She had never heard such music be- 
 fore, and it was in her as it was in her mother to be 
 affected by it. She listened quietly, and the solemn 
 strains of the funeral march he chose stole upon her 
 spirit and gave it rest. When he came to the last chord 
 she sighed. 
 
 "Can you come again to-morrow ?" she said : but 
 Andrea, who was putting his violin in its case, shook his 
 head. 
 
 "To-morrow I shall be Jar away," he said. 
 
 "I should like to hear you play every day," said Peggy. 
 "I should like to play like that myself." 
 
 "If you will come with me I will teach you," said 
 Andrea. He wanted to say many other things. He 
 wanted to ask her who had killed her dog and also to 
 tell her everything he could about her mother, but he 
 spoke English with difficulty, and found it easier to an- 
 swer what she said than to introduce new subjects. 
 
 "How can I come with you?" said Peggy, staring at 
 him: and as she spoke she shivered with cold. 
 
 Andrea, who had put on his cloak again, sat down 
 beside her and wrapped some of it round her shoulders, 
 so they sat there together snug and friendly. 
 
 "If you will come with me I shall take you to your 
 mother," he said. "She is my friend. Nearly every day 
 I am at her house and we play together."
 
 150 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 "My mother!" exclaimed Peggy. "Are you sure that 
 you know my mother?" 
 
 "Quite sure. She told me your name and the name 
 of this house, and I have come all the way from Siena 
 to fetch you. She is unhappy till she has you in her 
 arms." 
 
 "I don't remember her much," said Peggy, in great 
 doubt and uneasiness. The man was kind, but he was 
 odd, and suppose he carried her to a cave ! 
 
 But he did not look like that. 
 
 "Should we walk there?" she inquired. "Should you 
 play the violin and I go round collecting pennies ? Where 
 is Siena?" 
 
 "In Italy. Your mother lives there. She has a garden 
 with a cherry-tree in it. She would let you pick the 
 cherries. You would not shiver there or cough." 
 
 "But I am not allowed to be with her," she explained. 
 "I am obliged to live with my step-mother." 
 
 "Do you love her?" 
 
 "I hate her," cried Peggy, her eyes gleaming and vin- 
 dictive. "She killed Dingo. I never want to see her 
 again." 
 
 "Then come with me. I will take you to your mother, 
 who is an angel." 
 
 "But I can't come with you just as I am." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "I must have a trunk with clothes. I have a new one 
 of my own that I took to Grange." 
 
 "You talk folly, little one. If you go back to the 
 house for a trunk you will never see me again and your 
 mother will cry every day because she has lost her 
 child." 
 
 "Does she?" said Peggy, much impressed. 
 
 "Every day !" 
 
 "Will she be glad to see me if I come?" 
 
 "So glad that every day will be a festa. She will give
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 151 
 
 you cherries to eat, and pretty white frocks to wear, and 
 I will give you my cat." 
 
 "Dingo didn't like cats," said Peggy. "I don't think 
 I could make friends with a cat just yet for his sake." 
 
 "Do you like little green parrakeets? There is a girl 
 I often see who has some for sale. She carries them 
 about in a wicker cage. We will go for a walk together, 
 and when we meet her we will buy them." 
 
 "If I come with you," said Peggy doubtfully. "I wish 
 Mr. Gerard was here." 
 
 "Who is that?" 
 
 "He is my guardian. He would tell me what to do. 
 He gave me Dingo. But he is in Australia and Dingo 
 is dead. I wish I was dead." 
 
 "But what a horror for a child to say! Why do you 
 say it?" 
 
 Peggy began to cry again : and then she coughed and 
 shivered all over her body with cold. What an uncom- 
 fortable country, thought Andrea, where the skies are 
 gray and the earth wet and the children miserable and 
 thin. He looked at his watch and saw that it was time 
 to go. 
 
 "Tell me your name and the name of this house and 
 the name of your mother," he said, for it occurred to 
 him that he had better make sure of Peggy being the 
 right child. Yes: she was the right child. She said the 
 unpronounceable English names as Daphne said them, 
 but she knew nothing about her mother except what she 
 could remember. 
 
 "She wore a blue dress and she took me on her knee 
 and called me her ladybird and her pigeon," said Peggy. 
 
 "She wore a blue dress last time I saw her," said 
 Andrea, whose arm was round the child now, keeping 
 her warm within his cloak. "If you come you shall soon 
 sit on her knee again." 
 
 "I'm too big now."
 
 152 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 "To her you will seem little. All these years she has 
 loved you and wept for you. Her beautiful eyes are 
 worn with tears. Be kind to her. Come !" 
 
 Peggy could not resist. With some misgivings but 
 with an exciting sense of adventure she put her hand in 
 Andrea's and led him by a short cut through the woods 
 to the landing-stage for the steamer. She would have 
 liked to fetch her fur coat but Andrea would not let her 
 risk it. He said he would buy her what she wanted next 
 day in London. He seemed to be a very nervous man, 
 she thought. At the least sound he stopped and looked 
 anxiously around him, and while they waited for the 
 steamer he hid with her in the shelter and only emerged 
 when the one or two passengers alighting had their backs 
 to him. Then he hurried her on deck and down to the 
 cabin where he said she would be warmer. On the 
 coach he kept her snug beneath his cloak again. Peggy 
 saw no one she knew until they were in the main street 
 of Senwick, when she passed the younger Miss Pinkney, 
 who stared at her and seemed about to speak but ap- 
 parently thought better of it. Andrea was muttering to 
 himself at the time and seemed to be in a hurry. At 
 his inn he left her downstairs with a woman who let 
 her sit by the fire and gave her some tea and bread-and- 
 butter and hot buttered teacake which she enjoyed very 
 much. 
 
 "Wheer 'sta bahn wi' t'furren gentleman?" asked the 
 woman, looking at her curiously. 
 
 "To Italy," said Peggy. 
 
 "Where's that?" 
 
 Peggy could not tell her. It was a long way off, she 
 said, but her mother lived there and had sent the foreign 
 gentleman to fetch her. 
 
 "What's the like o' he know about childer?" asked 
 the woman, with a sniff. "Yer moother sud 'a coom 
 hersel'," and when Andrea appeared with his cheap suit-
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 153 
 
 case and his violin in his hands she told him that Peggy 
 was not warmly enough dressed for a night journey. 
 But Andrea, if he heard, did not answer. He put some 
 money on the table, took Peggy by one hand, and raced 
 through the town so quickly that the child began to cough 
 again. 
 
 "The train . . . the train!" he said. "We are late. 
 We must run." 
 
 It was high time. As they reached the platform the 
 guard put his whistle to his lips, but opened a door 
 when he saw Andrea and Peggy tearing towards him. 
 He bundled them into an empty compartment as the 
 train began to move and thought no more about them. 
 He took Andrea for a traveling musician and Peggy for 
 his child.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 ANDREA refused dinner on the train. He did not 
 want to multiply the chances of detection or 
 failure. But Peggy told him soon after they 
 started that she was hungry, so by tipping the guard he 
 managed to get a luncheon-basket when they stopped at 
 Preston and a glass of milk for the child. There was no 
 one else in their compartment and they had a picnic 
 meal together that Peggy enjoyed. Andrea buttered her 
 roll for her and gave her the wing of the chicken and the 
 big orange. He ate what he could of a dry-looking leg 
 and found that the little orange was moldy: but he did 
 not seem to mind. When they had finished he wrapped 
 her in his cloak, making a pillow for her head of some 
 of it, and then he let her lie at full length on the seat 
 while he sat up opposite and stared out of the closed 
 window. Every now and then she felt afraid of what 
 she had done, and afraid of him because he was so queer 
 and ugly, but he seemed to guess when she felt unhappy 
 and would call her little affectionate names that she did 
 not understand. However, she understood the tones of 
 his voice and his ways of petting her and attending to 
 her comfort: and by the time she lay down in his cloak 
 she felt safe with him. In two minutes she fell fast 
 asleep and Andrea watched her, anxious and wide awake. 
 He could not feel either safe or triumphant yet. The 
 powers of the wire and the telephone were against him. 
 He might be met at Euston by detectives with warrants 
 for his arrest. He supposed he was committing some 
 crime against the English law in abducting Peggy, and 
 
 154
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 155 
 
 that if they were discovered she would be snatched from 
 him. He had a miserable journey, starting at every 
 footstep and listening to every sound. Besides, he was 
 bitter cold without his cloak, and the ancient chicken leg 
 had not satisfied his hunger. When he roused Peggy 
 just before they reached London she began to cry because 
 she was not at home in bed, and then she wanted her 
 breakfast, although he explained that it was two o'clock 
 in the morning and therefore not time for breakfast yet. 
 She was still crying when the train stopped at Euston, 
 and as he helped her out she told him she wanted to go 
 back at once. He pretended not to understand, but, 
 taking her by the hand, led her hastily through the crowd 
 descending from the train and through the empty-looking 
 station into the Euston Road, where by good luck he 
 found a taxi that took them to his friends in Soho. They 
 were naturally in bed, and it took time to rouse them, 
 but when they found that he, Andrea Sarzoni, stood there 
 in the street and had brought the bambina with him their 
 excitement expressed itself in ways that Peggy, at any 
 rate, had never seen before. A key was turned, a door 
 was opened, and a whole family of strange-looking peo- 
 ple, all talking at once, seemed to take possession of her. 
 Andrea talked too, very fast and very loud. She did not 
 know what any of them were saying. But a girl with 
 big black eyes and fuzzy black hair took her on her knee, 
 while another girl got a tray ready with tea and bread- 
 and-butter and cold ham. They gave her that, but a 
 few minutes later they brought Andrea a plate heaped 
 up with steaming macaroni and a bottle of wine: and 
 Peggy watched him eat the macaroni as Italians do, roll- 
 ing it round his fork and swallowing more at a time 
 than she thought polite. But his friends seemed to be 
 just as kind as he was, and when they put her to bed 
 the bed was white and clean. That was all she knew 
 till next day, when the dark-eyed girl came in to help
 
 156 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 her wash and dress and told her they must be quick 
 because the train started in an hour. 
 
 "Are we going back?" she said to Andrea: and she 
 suddenly felt afraid and forlorn. She did not want to 
 go back, she found, when it came to the point. He did 
 not hear her because he seemed to be settling accounts 
 with his friends: and after farewells that embraced 
 Peggy as warmly as they did him, the travelers got into 
 a cab accompanied by the dark-eyed girl, who now wore 
 a coat displaying a good deal of neck and a ribbon toque 
 with a feather trimming. They stopped at a big shop 
 on the way, and in a frenzy of haste the girl rushed 
 Peggy upstairs to the first floor and said that she wanted 
 a warm traveling-coat for this young lady, and one of 
 those on the nearest stand would do, and if they couldn't 
 serve her that moment she wouldn't have one at all. A 
 hop pole in black moved languidly forward, took the 
 Italian girl's measure and did not think much of it, and 
 brought forward a cheap-looking creation in black and 
 buff squares, like a draught-board. 
 
 " 'Orrible !" said the Italian, whose English aitches 
 were not her strong point. 
 
 An altercation ensued that Peggy settled by asking 
 for a rose-colored coat with a fur collar that was on show 
 by itself and expensive. However, the Italian produced 
 the money for it, put it over her arm, and rushed Peggy 
 down to the taxi, where they found Andrea fidgeting on 
 the pavement and certain that they would lose their train. 
 But they just caught it, and as it moved off the Italian, 
 who still had the coat on her arm, gave a dramatic shriek 
 and stuffed it through the window. 
 
 "Ecco!" cried Andrea, and tried to put it on over 
 Peggy's black coat, which was impossible. With a ges- 
 ture of despair he put both his hands to his head and 
 seemed about to tear his hair. 
 
 "Poor little one," he cried. "It vis too small, and now
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 157 
 
 you will die of cold and your mother will continue to 
 weep and I shall not be able to console her." 
 
 "But I never wear two coats of the same kind," ex- 
 plained Peggy. "I'll put on the pink one and carry the 
 black one over my arm." 
 
 He sighed loudly, shrugged his shoulders, felt both the 
 coats to appraise their thickness, decided in favor of the 
 new one and helped Peggy to complete the change. 
 
 "Your uncle seems very fond of you," said an elderly 
 man traveling in the same compartment, when Andrea 
 had gone into the corridor to see if he could get Peggy 
 a glass of milk. 
 
 "He isn't my uncle," said Peggy. "I don't know who 
 he is." 
 
 "Really!" said the elderly man. "Then how do you 
 come to be traveling with him?" 
 
 "He is taking me to see my mother," said Peggy, after 
 a moment's consideration : but when the elderly man left 
 the carriage she told Andrea what he had said. 
 
 "I didn't tell him we had run away together, and I 
 didn't tell him my name," she added. 
 
 "You should not have told him anything," said Andrea, 
 in a fidget at once. "If we are found you will be taken 
 away from me and you will never see that most beautiful 
 angel your mother, or the cherries in her garden, or the 
 Archbishop in his robes and his red silk gloves as I 
 have promised you. You will never see Siena at all. 
 You will go back to the wet, cold garden and weep beside 
 the grave of your little dog and remember your poor 
 Andrea who would have placed you on your mother's 
 knee and seen her dry her eyes. Come here now and let 
 me button your coat, which is the color of the big oleander 
 in one corner of your mother's garden. We are at Dover, 
 and on the sea it will be bitter cold. Also, I shall suffer 
 much from sea-sickness and not be able to talk to you. 
 Therefore I will take you down to the ladies' cabin and
 
 158 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 ask the stewardess to attend to you if you too 
 are ill." 
 
 But at Calais Peggy bobbed up as fresh as paint, and 
 explained to Andrea, who looked green, that she had not 
 stayed ten minutes in the ladies' cabin because it was 
 stuffy. She had gone up on deck and had talked to ever 
 so many people, and they had all wanted to know who 
 she was and where she was going: so she had told them 
 that she was going to Italy with her uncle, who was a 
 brigand, and that they meant to live in a cave on the 
 top of a mountain and take money from the rich in order 
 to give to the poor. A disagreeable old lady had called 
 her a little story-teller, so she had pointed to Andrea, 
 who was very ill at the time, and someone with the old lady 
 had said he certainly looked like a brigand or a hurdy- 
 gurdy man. Someone else had wondered aloud where 
 Peggy's pink coat came from, and she had told them that 
 an Italian girl had just walked into a shop, thrown it 
 over her arm and run down with it to the brigand who 
 was waiting below. After this they had not talked to 
 her much, but she made friends with a sailor who had 
 been listening with a grin on his face, and told her he 
 had a little girl just her age and as fond of a yarn as she 
 seemed to be. She had told him about her father dying 
 last October, and then he had asked her how she came 
 to be wearing a pink coat: and that reminded her that 
 she was in mourning and ought to have bought a black 
 one. 
 
 Andrea listened to her prattle, only half understanding 
 it and only half realizing that they were a conspicuous 
 couple, even in a cosmopolitan traveling crowd. People 
 stared at them, and that made him fear they were being 
 watched and followed. He was thankful when the train 
 moved out of Calais station and he found himself in a 
 compartment with French people who talked to each 
 other and hardly glanced his way. He was going to risk
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 159 
 
 dining on the train, but as he went to the restaurant car 
 with Peggy he told her to keep quiet and say nothing of 
 their affairs. She was enjoying herself tremendously. 
 No adventure she had ever had could compare with this 
 one, and it seemed to get more glorious every hour. The 
 last shadow of fear and distrust had vanished from her 
 mind and she now regarded Andrea much as she had 
 regarded Dingo. He could not speak her tongue quite 
 satisfactorily, but she could make him understand what 
 she wanted and he was invariably ready to do it. He 
 looked at her with the same adoring eyes, and he seemed 
 to know when her cough hurt her, which of course poor 
 Dingo had not been able to do. They had a lovely dinner 
 at a little table set for two, and after it they had black, 
 sweet coffee. Andrea said it was not good for her, but 
 he let her have it. He was not a bit like Mr. Gerard, 
 who was kind but would stand no nonsense. Peggy knew 
 by this time that Andrea would stand anything. After 
 dinner Andrea fell fast asleep, but Peggy did not feel 
 sleepy. Perhaps it was the black coffee. At any rate, 
 she was wide awake and tired of sitting still, so as other 
 people were passing to and fro in the corridor she thought 
 she would go out there too and see what was happening. 
 A young man leaning against an open window engaged 
 her in conversation, and surprised her by saying that they 
 would soon arrive in Paris. 
 
 "Is it a nice place?" said Peggy. 
 
 "Rather !" said the young man, slightly shutting one 
 eye. "You get the best chocolates in the world there." 
 He looked at her pink coat. "And the prettiest clothes," 
 he added. He pulled out his handkerchief and waved it 
 towards Peggy. It smelt of fresh violets. "And the 
 most heavenly scents and soaps," he went on. "You 
 are a lucky child to be going there." 
 
 Peggy looked at him pensively, turned on her heel and 
 went back to her seat opposite Andrea. She had to
 
 160 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 shake him hard before she could wake him, and then he 
 only looked half awake. 
 
 "This train isn't going to Siena at all," she said shrilly. 
 "It is going to Paris." 
 
 "Little angel, I know it," said Andrea sleepily. "Paris 
 is on the way to Siena." 
 
 "How long shall we stay there?" 
 
 "We shall not stay at all. We shall drive across it 
 and get into another train." 
 
 "But I want to stay there," said Peggy. "I want to 
 buy some chocolates. Besides, I'm very tired and my 
 cough hurts me. I want to go to bed. Can't we go to 
 Siena to-morrow or the day after . . . when we've seen 
 the chocolate-shops?" 
 
 . Andrea hesitated. He was tired himself, but he had 
 made up his mind to get on to Italy where he knew what 
 to do next and felt at home. 
 
 "To-morrow night we shall sleep in Genoa," he coaxed. 
 "I have told you about Genoa. I shall take you to see 
 the Sign of the Cock made of glass grapes and the 
 leopard in the Zoological Gardens. You will see great 
 ships there and the sea and mountains. It is a fine city." 
 
 "We can go there after Paris," said Peggy. 
 
 "But your mother who weeps for you. . . ." 
 
 "She has wept a long time. A day or two more 
 couldn't make much difference. If we stayed in Paris 
 we could take her a box of chocolates and some scent 
 and some soap. I'm sure she would like them." 
 
 "I've no friends in Paris now," argued Andrea. "I 
 know of no hotel." 
 
 Peggy was out of the carriage and into the corridor as 
 quick as lightning. She touched her friend of the hand- 
 kerchief on the arm. 
 
 "Do you know of a hotel in Paris?" she asked. 
 
 "I know a good many," he said amused. "I stay at 
 the Scribe."
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 161 
 
 "Do you mind if my uncle and I come there too? My 
 uncle is Italian and he doesn't know much about Paris, 
 he says. He wants to go straight on to Genoa, but I 
 want to stay in Paris." 
 
 "What about your luggage?" asked the young man. 
 
 "He has his with him and I came away without any," 
 said Peggy. "Perhaps I could buy some things in Paris 
 to-morrow. It was what you said about soap that made 
 me think of it ... partly. I've no soap and no sponge 
 and no comb or toothbrush. It's so inconvenient." 
 
 "But have you lost your luggage?" 
 
 "Not exactly. I came away in a hurry and left it at 
 home. But I am enjoying myself very much. My uncle 
 is a very kind man." 
 
 "On which side are you Italian ? You look thoroughly 
 English." 
 
 "I am !" cried Peggy. "He just happens to be my 
 uncle. I think I'll tell him the name of that hotel before 
 I forget it." 
 
 She ran off and found that Andrea was wide awake 
 now and ready for their arrival in Paris. 
 
 "We can stop at the Hotel Scribe," she said. "Some- 
 one out there in the corridor is going there and told me 
 the name. I told him you were my uncle. Will the 
 shops be shut when we get there? I want a sponge and 
 a comb and a toothbrush and a nightgown." 
 
 "All those things you could buy in Genoa," said 
 Andrea. 
 
 "I should like to stop in Genoa too," said Peggy. "I 
 like traveling ... at least, I like it with you, darling 
 Uncle Andrea. ... I didn't want to go with them and 
 leave Dingo behind. ... I wish you had come a little 
 sooner. We might have brought Dingo with us. Poor 
 Dingo!"
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 THE young man was amused. He arrived at the 
 hotel at the same moment as the English child 
 in the rose-colored coat and the deformed Italian 
 who carried a violin. As they could not speak much 
 French he interpreted for them, and he was commanded 
 by Peggy to say that she required a nightgown, a sponge, 
 a toothbrush and a comb. 
 
 "I can buy a brush to-morrow," she explained. The 
 young man was used to odd people and various nationali- 
 ties because his business obliged him to travel a good 
 deal : but his experience made him a good judge, and he 
 felt sure that Andrea and Peggy did not belong to each 
 other. However, their affairs were not his, and if he 
 felt sorry for one of the two, it was for Andrea, who 
 seemed to be putty in the child's hands. 
 
 "Little angel," Andrea had said, "I cannot buy you 
 these things to-night. The shops are shut." But the 
 little angel had said that it was impossible to go to bed 
 without them and that she would like a glass of milk 
 and a few chocolates as well. So a waiter and a cham- 
 bermaid and the young man had conferred together, and 
 the young man produced a box of chocolates that he 
 presented to Peggy, while the chambermaid called her a 
 little angel in French and helped her to wash in a small 
 dressing room off her bedroom where there was a big 
 basin and hot water out of a tap. Peggy liked being a 
 little angel and getting everything she asked for. She 
 liked her room at the hotel that had an enormous high 
 window with brocade curtains and a sofa and chairs 
 covered with red velvet. To go fast to sleep and then 
 
 162
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 163 
 
 next morning to wake in it was like waking to a dream 
 that lasted. She managed to wash and dress herself, and 
 when she was ready Andrea was ready too, and they had 
 breakfast together in her room : a delicious breakfast of 
 chocolate and rolls and butter and eggs. After breakfast 
 he asked her what she would like to do, and she said 
 she would like to find the chocolate-shops and buy herself 
 some clothes. 
 
 "Chocolates, yes : but not clothes," said Andrea, re- 
 sisting her for once. "Your mother will get you clothes." 
 
 "Will they be as good in Siena as in Paris?" asked 
 Peggy : and Andrea said he did not know, but that he 
 was not going to buy any as he could not trust either his 
 taste or hers. Besides, neither of them could talk French. 
 Peggy said that she could talk enough to get chocolates 
 if she saw them in a shop window, so the odd pair 
 sallied forth together for a day in Paris. There was 
 a little trouble in the first chocolate-shop they passed 
 because Peggy wanted a big box which Andrea said she 
 should have but could not carry about with her. They 
 must be sent to the hotel. 
 
 "But if they are sent to the hotel I can't eat them," 
 replied Peggy. "We want to be out all day and see 
 everything in Paris." 
 
 "Little angel, if you eat chocolates all day you will 
 be ill," argued Andrea. "One or two are good, but 
 many are evil. This small box you may have to carry 
 with you, but the other we shall take to your mother 
 in Siena." 
 
 "Perhaps you are right," conceded Peggy, who had 
 eaten a good many chocolates the night before and knew 
 very well that Andrea was right. "I think I'll send the 
 small box to the hotel too," she said on consideration. 
 "It would be very awkward if I was ill on the journey." 
 
 Andrea praised her wisdom, which, he said, was re- 
 markable in one so young, and then hailed a taxi in which
 
 164 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 they drove to the Louvre together, through the gay, 
 crowded Paris streets. They had a long, rapturous morn- 
 ing amongst the pictures and sculptures, and Andrea said 
 that her intelligence rejoiced and surprised him. They 
 went through the galleries arm in arm and he told her 
 what he could in his broken English. When he came 
 to the Italians he knew little stories about the old painters 
 that made her ask if they were alive and his friends; 
 so he tried to explain their dates to her, and the date 
 of the Venus of Milo, before whom they stayed until 
 Peggy began to fidget and say she was hungry. By 
 that time it was one o'clock, and Andrea took another 
 taxi and drove to a restaurant full of people having 
 lunch. There they met the young man of the train, 
 who was looking out for them and had reserved a table 
 for three on the first floor. He had ordered lunch too 
 the most attractive lunch, that began with a sole for 
 Peggy and mussels for the men. At least, the men 
 really began with cocktails, and Andrea let Peggy taste 
 his, but she did not like it. She liked everything else, 
 and especially the ices at the end, and after lunch she felt 
 so sleepy that Andrea persuaded her to go back to the 
 hotel and lie down. He tucked her up in an eiderdown, 
 darkened the room, and promised to wake her when it 
 was time to go out again. But she waked by herself 
 with the feeling of having slept for hours, and when she 
 peeped into Andrea's room he was not there. For a 
 moment panic took her by the throat. Suppose he had 
 gone for good and left her there alone, without a penny, 
 in a foreign land? Suppose his kindness was a delusion 
 and his promises a snare? What would become of her? 
 There, to be sure, were his violin and his suit-case, but 
 he might have left them as she had left everything she 
 possessed, in order to get away. A child of ten does 
 not reason much or inquire into motives. Here she stood 
 forlorn and deserted in a strange hotel, still heavy with
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 165 
 
 sleep, inclined to fears, more used to unkindness than 
 to love. She began to cry, and crying made her cough 
 come on badly. Andrea could not understand what was 
 happening when he came into the room with his arms 
 full of parcels and found Peggy damp and crumpled in 
 one corner of her red velvet sofa, the room still dark 
 and sad. He put his parcels on the table, drew back the 
 curtains and took the silly child in his arms. 
 
 "I thought you had gone away," she sobbed. 
 
 He coaxed and fondled her, with a warm feeling about 
 his heart. In less than two days he had so won hers 
 that she wept for him, the dear little one, and ceased to 
 weep when he appeared. 
 
 "See now what I have brought for you," he said, and 
 opened the parcels he had put on the table. He had 
 been out and about while she slept, it seemed, and had 
 got her the things she needed most for the rest of the 
 journey: a nightgown, a sponge and comb and brushes, 
 and a warm dressing-gown for the night. Some Made- 
 leines, too, and a flask that he meant to have filled with 
 milk before they started. Peggy dried her eyes and tried 
 on the dressing-gown, which was blue and suited her 
 copper-colored hair better than the pink coat did. Then 
 she got ready to go out again, and after giving her tea 
 in a tea-shop he took her for a drive in the Bois. 
 
 The journey to Genoa took nearly twenty-four hours 
 and Peggy was very tired when they arrived there. So 
 was Andrea. He had not been able to get sleepers, 
 and they had been obliged to sit up all night in an 
 overcrowded carriage. Peggy's cough had been trouble- 
 some, not only to herself but to her fellow-travelers. 
 They said it kept them from sleeping. Andrea observed 
 that it also kept the child from sleeping, but that idea 
 did not seem to appease them. They said a child in a 
 state like that ought not to be traveling at all. What 
 was her mother thinking about?
 
 166 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 "Probably about the child," snapped Andrea, who felt 
 cross and sleepy himself. "We are on our way to her." 
 
 Then a good-natured person had offered Peggy 
 oranges for her cough, and she had eaten two, but had 
 made her fingers sticky and spilt the juice on her new 
 coat. Andrea took her outside to wash her hands and 
 rub off the stains on the coat, and when they got back an 
 extra stout person had spread into Peggy's corner and 
 was snoring there. He had to be waked, and he did not 
 like it. Besides, he made Peggy more uncomfortable 
 than she need have been by going to sleep again and 
 allowing his mountainous body to fall heavily against 
 her. Andrea changed places with her and drove a bony 
 but muscular elbow into his neighbor whenever he en- 
 croached. That brought about an argument volubly 
 conducted in Italian by Andrea and in Serbian by the fat 
 man. They did not understand each other's words, but 
 they understood each other's hisses and gestures. When 
 they subsided, Peggy had a fresh fit of coughing and 
 said she wanted her breakfast. Andrea got out the flask 
 of milk and found that it had gone sour. That upset 
 him visibly, and seeing this the Serbian took a Thermos 
 from his bag and gave Peggy a cup of hot tea from it. 
 After that everyone dozed off for an hour or two, but 
 no one could get much sleep because of Peggy's cough, 
 which was fitful but persistent. She explained that she 
 did not cough on purpose, but her fellow-travelers had 
 an air of not believing her. One or two of them looked 
 for other seats but could not find any. The night was 
 long, dry and weary. After dawn broke it seemed hours 
 before breakfast was ready in the restaurant car. 
 
 "I thought I liked traveling, but I'm not sure that I 
 do," said Peggy, who looked ill and heavy-eyed now. 
 "I want to go to bed. Can't we get out at the next station 
 and stay at another hotel till to-morrow? I don't want 
 to stop in this horrid old train all day."
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 167 
 
 But Andrea was determined to go on. When Peggy 
 had washed and had breakfast she seemed better again, 
 and by day her cough was not quite as troublesome as it 
 had been by night. He would have telegraphed to 
 Daphne to meet them at Genoa, but there was a postal 
 and telegraph strike on and he knew that he could get to 
 Siena before his message. His thoughts often went to 
 the child's English home and the steps that must have 
 been taken by this time for her recapture. They must 
 have been seen together in the boat and again on the 
 train. After that, London was large, and he hoped that 
 he had covered his tracks. He knew little enough about 
 children, but he could partly see and partly judge from 
 what Peggy told him that she had been badly used by 
 her step-mother. When she fell asleep in the train she 
 had more than once waked in a fright with scared eyes 
 and a shrinking body that told their own tale. 
 
 "I dreamed that she had come for me," she said the 
 first time, and henceforward Andrea knew that when 
 Peggy waked like that he must speak to her at once and 
 comfort her. 
 
 They stayed two nights in Genoa because Peggy in- 
 sisted on seeing the leopard in the Zoological Gardens 
 and the Sign of the Cock made of glass grapes and the 
 big ships about to sail for South America. 
 
 "Are you in no hurry then to see your mother?" he 
 asked her. 
 
 "Not particularly," said Peggy. "I may not like her." 
 
 "But I tell you that she is an angel." 
 
 Peggy looked at him skeptically. "You call me an 
 angel," she pointed out, "but you know I'm not one. 
 She used to call me a little devil. I felt like one, too, 
 when she beat me. I bit her once." 
 
 "Talk not of those evil days," said Andrea. "They 
 are over and will not come again. A child should always 
 remember the Holy Bambino who sits on his Mother's
 
 168 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 knee and smiles. A child should be happy and good. 
 Why did you allow your little dog to destroy those 
 beautiful flowers? When I first saw you I thought I 
 had never seen so evil a child, and that I would not take 
 you to your mother to make her weep even more than 
 she does when she sits alone." 
 
 Peggy did not like to say so, but, as a matter of fact, 
 Andrea's picture of a mother for ever in tears did not 
 attract her. She admired people like Mr. Gerard, who 
 met life with smiles and faced trouble as if it was a jest. 
 She had quite made up her mind that when she was old 
 enough to travel by herself she would go across the 
 world, if need be, and see him again. He still had the 
 paramount place in her heart. Andrea was kindness 
 itself, and she loved him, but as a rule she could twist 
 him round her little finger. Mr. Gerard was kind, but he 
 could not be twisted, and when you yourself are a crea- 
 ture of moods and impulses wanting this and that, tem- 
 pestuous inside and inclined to naughtiness, you are at- 
 tracted by a nature stronger than your own. Peggy 
 tried to explain why she had led Dingo across the tulip- 
 bed, but she could only make Andrea understand that 
 she had done wrong deliberately, and that made him 
 shake his head and hope she would not break her mother's 
 heart. When they got to Pisa he took her to see the 
 Leaning Tower and followed her to the top, grumbling 
 to himself in Italian all the way. When they got nearly 
 to the top she insisted on running round the outside, 
 although he told her they would certainly turn dizzy 
 and fall and be dashed to pieces. But he went with 
 her, though he hated it and looked quite pale for some 
 time afterwards. He turned paler still when she said 
 she would like to take her step-mother up there and see 
 her fall over. 
 
 "I wouldn't push her," she assured him, "but if she 
 fell and killed herself I shouldn't cry. I don't suppose
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 169 
 
 it would hurt much. Besides, she killed Dingo. I want 
 to hurt her really. I want her to be like those people in 
 the picture on the wall . . . the ones that are having 
 spears thrust through them for ever and for ever . . . 
 she deserves it." 
 
 Andrea sighed and talked about the Bambino again, 
 but Peggy would not unsay what she had said. Nor 
 would she look forward to the reunion with her mother 
 as he did. She said she did not remember her much, 
 and hoped she would be nice. 
 
 "If I don't like her can I come and live with you?" 
 she inquired, but Andrea shook his head. 
 
 "You will adore her," he prophesied. 
 
 "She may not like me," suggested Peggy. "I'm not 
 usually liked." 
 
 "But Grasie a Dio, you are her child !" 
 
 "I don't see what that has to do with it," said Peggy.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 "TYEGGY felt queer and tired when she arrived at 
 K^ Siena late that afternoon. It was daylight and yet 
 she wanted to go to bed. Her cough had been 
 troublesome in the train and her chest ached with it. 
 In spite of her new cloak she looked like a little raga- 
 muffin, but that did not trouble her nor did Andrea 
 think about it. He was in a state of suppressed excite- 
 ment, avoiding people he knew and bustling Peggy into 
 one of the little open carriages waiting at the station. 
 
 "Our horse has got feathers on its head," she mur- 
 mured, and waked up enough -to see other horses with 
 tall feathers sticking bolt upright from their foreheads. 
 She had seen them in Genoa and Pisa but had not driven 
 behind one yet. 
 
 "Ours has a blue feather as well as brown ones," she 
 said, and then shut her eyes again. 
 
 Andrea thanked his stars that he had brought her 
 safely so far and hoped he had not brought her here to 
 die. She went up and down in a manner he did not 
 understand. This morning on the stairs of the Leaning 
 Tower she had run about like quicksilver, she had eaten 
 hardly anything at lunch, and ever since she had flagged. 
 But now she would have her mother and, if necessary, 
 the good doctors of Siena: so all was well. He had 
 ceased to be troubled by fears of pursuit. From what 
 Peggy told him she was not beloved by her step-mother, 
 so probably that evil woman was glad to be rid of the 
 child and would take no steps to get her back. . . . He 
 could hardly wait for the moment when he would put her 
 
 170
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 171 
 
 into her mother's arms, and as they drove through the 
 crowded main street of the city his eyes were rapt as they 
 were when he was playing and he did not speak. They 
 stopped first at his own lodging, where he got rid of his 
 suit-case and his violin, and then they drove on to the 
 quiet airy corner where Daphne lived. "See, little lamb, 
 see !" he cried, pointing upwards. "There is your 
 mother's garden. There is her cherry-tree. Come, open 
 your eyes. You shall soon be in a soft white bed, and 
 to-morrow there will be no train." 
 
 He paid the cabman, put his arm round Peggy to help 
 her upstairs, and when he got to the third floor rang the 
 bell. The Italian maid took them into Daphne's sitting- 
 room, which had a great many flowers and books in it, 
 a grand piano, and not much furniture. From the win- 
 dow there was a view of the hills, and another window 
 opened on a tiled terrace with seats and on the crowded 
 little garden. But Peggy had no time to look about her 
 much because a lady came into the room and then stood 
 still and stared at her in surprise. She had a pretty 
 pale pink color in her cheeks that went away as she 
 stared. She did not speak. She looked startled and 
 incredulous. She looked at Andrea, and he did not speak 
 either at first. He tried to, and the words died in his 
 throat. Peggy liked the lady. She was young and very 
 pretty, with fair, wavy hair that covered her ears and 
 was gathered in a knot at the back of her head. She 
 had beautiful blue eyes, and a wistful mouth. Her hands 
 were lovely. Peggy noticed them at once because they 
 were so white and slender. She wore a dress as blue 
 as cornflowers and as straight as a nightgown: but she 
 had on a jeweled girdle that kept it in its place. Peggy 
 went up to her. 
 
 "Are you my real mother?" she said, and that seemed 
 to break the spell. The lady gave a cry of joy and took 
 Peggy into her arms, while Andrea spoke Italian as fast
 
 172 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 as he could and waved his hands. Daphne spoke Italian 
 too, so Peggy could not follow them. But before long 
 she was sitting close to her mother on a sofa and being 
 kissed over and over again and petted. Her mother had 
 soft, comfortable arms and a tender voice that made 
 her feel sleepy and happy. Indeed, she fell asleep while 
 Daphne gave orders for a room to be got ready and 
 while Andrea told the lady of his dreams about his 
 journey to Beda Close and back again. 
 
 "What made you think of it?" said Daphne. 
 
 "You did," said Andrea. "Always I saNv your arms 
 with the Bambina in them, and the Bambina was not 
 there. Now you will no longer weep. You will smile 
 and I shall be there to see." 
 
 "But it was such an impossible thing to do." 
 
 "It is done," said Andrea, with a deep bow, and then 
 he took his departure, leaving mother and child together 
 as he had seen them from the moment he had started on 
 his quest. But before he went he told Daphne the little 
 he had gleaned from Peggy's chatter about her life at 
 Beda Close and the little had been enough. Daphne's 
 face had bitterness in it as she watched the sleeping 
 child and noted the neglected condition of her clothes 
 and the half-starved look of her face that was pinched 
 and black under the eyes. When Giuditta came to say 
 that everything was ready, Daphne waked Peggy and 
 took her into a room that led out of her room. It had 
 a tiled floor and Italian inlaid furniture, and the open 
 window looked across the farm lands towards the hills. 
 It was an airy, high room, and when Peggy had had a 
 comforting hot bath and put on the n^vv nightgown 
 bought for her in Paris she lay in bed and looked at the 
 angels painted on the ceiling: while her mother gathered 
 up the clothes she had worn on the journey and told 
 Giuditta to carry them away. 
 
 "Why has she taken my clothes ?" said Peggy, watching
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 173 
 
 the old woman. "I shall want them to-morrow morn- 
 ing." 
 
 "I will get you others," said Daphne. "Some of yours 
 want washing and some are only fit to burn. Who looked 
 after your clothes?" 
 
 "Mr. Gerard did once when I had been ill," said 
 Peggy. "He sent me a trunk ful from Manchester and 
 a fur coat. I wanted to fetch my fur coat for the 
 journey, but Uncle Andrea said that if I did I might be 
 stopped and not be able to run away with him. So he 
 wrapped me in his cloak till we got to London and then 
 he bought me that pink coat. But I chose it. Do you 
 like it?" 
 
 "Not very much," said Daphne. "Who is Mr. 
 Gerard?" 
 
 "He is my guardian." 
 
 "Is he old or young?" 
 
 Peggy had never considered the question. When you 
 are ten all grown-up people seem old. 
 
 "His hair isn't gray," she said after a pause. "Are 
 you old?" 
 
 "I'm nineteen years older than you." 
 
 "That is very old," said Peggy, and turned her atten- 
 tion to a tray with supper that Giuditta brought in just 
 then. When she sat up to eat it her mother put a warm, 
 soft white shawl round her thin shoulders and kissed her 
 as she did so. 
 
 "I like you to touch me," said Peggy. "You make 
 me feel happy. You smell of flowers. Why didn't you 
 send Uncle Andrea for me years ago, when I was quite 
 little? Why did you leave me with her?" 
 
 "I couldn't help it, darling," murmured Daphne. 
 
 "Well, don't cry," said Peggy, cracking a second egg. 
 "I'm here now, and they won't be able to find me. It's 
 such a long way off. If they do come we shall have to 
 hide. You wouldn't ever let me go back, would you ?"
 
 174 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 "Never," said Daphne. "Never. We would run away 
 together." 
 
 "I hope Mr. Gerard won't come," said Peggy anxiously. 
 
 "Don't you like him?" 
 
 "I like him better than anyone in the world except 
 you . . . but I don't want him to come because if he 
 said I must go away I should have to go." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "I should have to. I don't know why. But if he 
 says I am to go back to her I shall run up to the top 
 of a high tower like the one at Pisa and throw myself 
 over the edge." 
 
 "My dear child, don't say such things, don't have such 
 thoughts." 
 
 "I can't help having them. When I saw the pictures 
 on the wall of people in Hell I wished she was there. I 
 hope she will be some day. She murdered Dingo, my 
 little dog. She was always beating me or making me go 
 hungry or knocking me about. I won't go back to her. 
 I won't ! I won't ! Even if Mr. Gerard says I must I 
 won't. I'd rather be dead. You won't let me go back, 
 will you? I want to stay with you always. I don't 
 suppose I shall be as wicked with you as I was with her. 
 I'll try not to be. I suppose I was born wicked. They 
 said you were, but I don't believe it now I know you." 
 
 Peggy had begun to talk of her step-mother while the 
 tray was still on her knees, and she grew so excited as 
 she turned towards her mother that she nearly upset it. 
 So Daphne took it from her and set it down: and it was 
 while she did this that she listened to her child's miser- 
 able story. It moved her more than she wanted Peggy 
 to understand: and more than she understood herself 
 in the primary shock of revelation. Her immediate idea 
 was to calm the child's feverish excitement, and she did 
 this by putting her arms round her, settling her in bed 
 again, and telling her about the pleasant things in store
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 175 
 
 for her to-morrow. She must sleep all night first, and 
 in the morning she should have breakfast in bed because 
 she was not quite well yet, and when she got up she 
 should find some new clothes ready for her. Her mother 
 would go out early after breakfast and buy them. 
 
 "But you won't go far, will you?" said Peggy, looking 
 so scared that her mother put her arms round her again. 
 "Suppose you were away and they came to fetch me?" 
 
 Daphne stayed with her till she fell asleep and then 
 went into the dining-room for her evening meal. She 
 knew that Giuditta must be full of curiosity, but she did 
 not feel inclined to talk to her yet. She wanted to be 
 alone. Peggy's arrival had taken her by storm. She 
 had not been able to think of anything at first except the 
 child's bodily needs, although even while she attended 
 to these she was receiving impressions that helped to 
 bridge the stolen years. Six years she had lost ! Six 
 empty interminable years when she should have watched 
 her child day by day, taking pride in her growth, loving 
 her passionately, keeping her from harm. They could 
 never be made good. Twice while she dined she left 
 her dinner to look at Peggy, fast asleep now, but cough- 
 ing sometimes in her sleep. The child looked miserably 
 thin and ill: and that scared look in her pretty eyes told 
 its tale. 
 
 "I will never let her go back," she said vehemently 
 to Andrea when he came in that evening. "She is ill. 
 She had been badly treated. She shall never go back." 
 
 They were sitting together on the little tiled terrace 
 that led to the garden, and above them the sky was full 
 of stars. The air was as bland as on a midsummer 
 night and Daphne needed no wrap over her thin blue 
 gown. She had thanked Andrea and made him happy 
 by her thanks, but he saw that she was not as simply 
 happy herself as he had expected her to be. Apparently 
 there were forces to reckon with that he had not fore-
 
 176 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 seen but which she feared and hated. He had never 
 seen her so moved, and he had not thought that she 
 could be so bitter and so angry. 
 
 "They will try to take her away from me," she ex- 
 plained. 
 
 "But they will not know that she is with you," argued 
 Andrea. "How should they know? Besides," he con- 
 tinued, "you say that the step-mother has ill-treated 
 her. Therefore she cannot love her. Therefore she 
 will be glad that the child has disappeared. Perhaps 
 she will have trouble with the police. That does not 
 matter to us." 
 
 The poor man was disappointed. He had expected 
 Daphne's troubles to end with Peggy's arrival : to end 
 suddenly and completely. She would look astonished 
 and incredulous: she would smile: she would weep a 
 little over her Bambina and then she would never shed 
 a tear again. Her child and she would be always to- 
 gether as a mother and child should be : and he, Andrea, 
 would be their faithful friend. Such had been his sim- 
 ple programme, and his fateful part in it had been carried 
 out. But apparently the complicated chords of Daphne's 
 life could not be played to an end by a trio. Other 
 instruments threatened to come in and disturb the melody. 
 She spoke of a man who was guardian to her child. 
 She did not know him, but she said that he had rights 
 refused to her, and that she might have difficulties with 
 him. 
 
 "I do not understand the law," said Andrea, "but I 
 know what is just and sensible. You are the only person 
 in the wide world who wants the child. You are her 
 mother. Therefore you must keep her. Everyone must 
 see it in this way. If the man comes here you will 
 reason with him and he will depart again." 
 
 Daphne could not accept his point of view, but she 
 did not try to change it. At any rate, to-night Peggy
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 177 
 
 was with her, thanks to Andrea, who had done what it 
 was impossible to do. Perhaps other miracles would 
 follow. Perhaps, as he said, no one would trouble to 
 pursue Peggy, since no one wanted her. Daphne hung 
 over the child before she went to bed herself, and her 
 heart ached at the thought of the long years behind them. 
 She could never know all that had happened. She could 
 never picture it. She could never wholly make up. She 
 blamed herself for her folly as she had never done 
 before: because she had never realized before that it 
 was her child who had paid.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 MRS. TWISTLETON had taken down her rook 
 rifle and shot Dingo in a spasm of rage. Directly 
 she had done it she knew she had made a mis- 
 take. She was not sorry for Peggy or for Dingo, but 
 she expected Victor Gerard that afternoon, and there 
 would be explanations. It would be impossible to keep 
 Peggy entirely out of his sight. Even if she sent the 
 child away at a moment's notice Victor would probably 
 go after her, and then he would hear what had happened 
 to her dog. Mrs. Twistleton would be able to point 
 to the tulip-bed, if she deigned to defend herself at all; 
 but as she sat over the fire waiting for Victor she rather 
 wished Dingo was still alive. She had known for some 
 time that Victor had returned from Australia and was 
 coming to Beda Close this afternoon, but she had not 
 told Peggy. She had not even told the servants the 
 name of the expected guest, but had ordered a room to 
 be ready and sent the car to the station without giving 
 any particulars: and her servants knew better than to 
 ask. They guessed at someone she favored because of 
 the dinner she ordered and because she dressed herself 
 with care when she came in from her walk. She had 
 gone out of deep mourning already and wore silvery 
 grays and purples a great deal: and sometimes white. 
 She had looked at herself very carefully in the glass this 
 afternoon and felt moderately satisfied. Beyond doubt 
 she was a handsome woman still: on the opulent side, 
 but not grossly so. The eyes of men still turned her 
 way and would do so for years to come. But she wished 
 that Victor Gerard had been older. Fate had not been 
 
 178
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 179 
 
 kind to her in some ways. The men who courted her 
 had never been the men by whom she felt attracted. 
 She had married John Vyell because she did not wish 
 to remain single: and then she had married Henry 
 Twistleton for his money: but in neither case had she 
 felt the least affection for her husband. Victor was 
 different. He was very much alive and a man: with 
 a strain of hardness in him that she respected and with 
 a magnetic presence that she found alluring. She waited 
 impatiently for his appearance. She listened, like a girl 
 expecting her lover, to the sounds of his arrival in the 
 hall. When he came into the room she realized that 
 her ideas of him had been the faint shadows of his 
 actual qualities. He looked browned by his long sea- 
 voyage and in good spirits. He had the air of a prosper- 
 ous man and was well dressed. But she thought he 
 looked younger than ever, and he met her with the civil 
 friendliness that can be disappointing. However, they 
 sat down together near the fire, and while they had tea 
 talked of Victor's adventures in Australia and of the 
 want of adventure in a house like Beda Close. Mrs. 
 Twistleton tried to find out what Victor's future plans 
 were, but he said he had none yet. He was at a loose 
 end again. Then he asked after Peggy, and was told 
 that she was well but, as usual, troublesome. 
 
 "I have let this house for five years," said Mrs. Twistle- 
 ton. "We are going abroad in June." 
 
 "Peggy too?" 
 
 "Certainly. I don't like schools for children of her 
 age, so there is no alternative: unless you get married 
 and take her." 
 
 "That's not likely," said Victor. "I'm not a marrying 
 man." 
 
 Mrs. Twistleton was glad to hear him say so. That 
 meant, she hoped, that he was still free: and when a 
 man is free anything may happen to him.
 
 180 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 "I suppose you consent to my taking her with me?" 
 she said. "Miss Busby goes too. . Their education will 
 not be interrupted." 
 
 Victor hardly replied. He was thinking. He wanted 
 to see Peggy before he consented to her going so far 
 away for such a long time. He did not agree with Mrs. 
 Twistleton about schools. He thought Peggy would be 
 much happier at a good school than with her step- 
 mother, and better educated. He had not seen much 
 of Miss Busby but he had taken her measure. She was 
 incompetent and feeble. It would give great offense if 
 he kept Peggy in England and sent her to school, but he 
 could not help that. He had the power to do it, and had 
 come here to see how the land lay and to say that he 
 would do it if necessary. He did not want a tussle with 
 Mrs. Twistleton, but he might have to have one. No 
 doubt there was fight in her. 
 
 "If you please, m'm," said Jordan's deferential voice 
 close by, "Miss Busby wishes me to say that Miss Peggy 
 is lost." 
 
 The butler had come into the room unnoticed and 
 reached the tea-table before he spoke. When he had 
 delivered his message he turned to Victor and asked him 
 for his keys. It was nearly seven by this time, and from 
 the windows the soft slanting rain could be seen veiling 
 the hills. 
 
 "What do you mean?" said Mrs. Twistleton. "Why 
 doesn't Miss Busby look for her?" 
 
 "We have all looked everywhere, m'm : so have Pater- 
 son and the other men outside. She has been missing 
 since. . . ." 
 
 He stopped short and looked hard at his mistress but 
 her eyes were veiled by her heavy eyelids. No one could 
 read what was in her mind. 
 
 "Since when?" said Victor, who had risen to his feet: 
 and he noticed that before the butler answered there
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 181 
 
 was an electric moment again: a moment that left out 
 something probably bearing on Peggy's disappearance. 
 
 "Since before the schoolroom tea," said Jordan. 
 
 "Ask Miss Busby to come here," said Mrs. Tvvistleton 
 impatiently: and Victor thought that the governess must 
 have been waiting outside, for she appeared at once and 
 Mabel came with her. Miss Busby was in a state of 
 weeping perturbation and could only give an incoherent 
 account of the steps she had taken for an hour past to 
 find Peggy. She had not been alarmed at first, she said, 
 not even when Peggy failed to come to tea. 
 
 "Of course I knew she must be dreadfully upset," 
 she murmured. "And none of us know what has become 
 of the body. If only we could find the body " 
 
 "What body?" said Victor brusquely. 
 
 "Dingo's body," said Miss Busby, with an hysterical 
 catch in her throat. "I must say, dear Mrs. Twistleton, 
 that it upset Mabel and me to see it. No doubt it had 
 to be done. Peggy was in one of her unmanageable 
 moods, and I had just told her that if she did not behave 
 herself she would not be taken to Italy. Upon which, 
 she tore out of the room like a mad thing, with Dingo 
 after her." 
 
 "And chivied him through and through the tulip-bed," 
 narrated Mabel, addressing Victor rather than her 
 mother. "The tulips are napoo, I'm afraid." 
 
 "But why did she do it?" asked Victor. "I can't see 
 what motive she had." 
 
 "Can't you?" said Mabel, with the prim, self-satisfied 
 air that always made Victor wish someone would shake 
 her. "I can. She didn't want to go to Italy and leave 
 Dingo behind: and unfortunately Miss Busby had just 
 told her that she would be left behind if she was 
 naughty." 
 
 "I thought it would have a good effect, not a bad 
 one," wept Miss Busby, glancing with appeal at the
 
 182 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 sphinx-like face of her employer. "But I was horrified 
 when I saw what she was doing." 
 
 "You went to the window?" said Victor, trying to 
 make out what had happened. 
 
 "Yes," said Miss Busby. "Mabel and I were both at 
 the window, but we turned away and sat down. We 
 were a little unstrung." 
 
 "I was quite unstrung," said Mabel, smoothing a fold 
 of her white frock. "I was not fond of Dingo because 
 he killed poor Carlo, but I didn't like seeing him wriggle 
 after he was shot. It was unpleasant." 
 
 "He was shot!" said Victor. 
 
 There was a momentary silence in the room. Mrs. 
 Twistleton did not raise her eyelids or relax the obstinate^ 
 set of her mouth: nor did she speak yet. 
 
 "Was he shot from the garden or the house?" asked 
 Victor. 
 
 Mrs. Twistleton raised her eyes then and met his 
 steadily. 
 
 "He was shot from the house," she said. "He had 
 become impossible. Besides, we could not take him to 
 Italy, and I don't care to leave animals with strangers. 
 You never know how they will be treated. I am sur- 
 prised, Miss Busby, that you waited so long before you 
 made inquiries about Peggy. Didn't you see which direc- 
 tion she took when she left the front of the house?" 
 
 But Miss Busby had seen nothing and knew nothing. 
 She left the room tearfully, followed by Mabel. 
 
 "I'll have a look round the place myself," said Victor, 
 when they had gone. 
 
 "I'm not in the least uneasy," said Mrs. Twistleton. 
 "The child can't be far off and she knows her way every- 
 where. She will come back when she gets hungry." 
 
 "I wish I could feel sure of that," said Victor. 
 
 "She has done the same thing before. She got as far 
 as the top of the hause once and we had search parties
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 183 
 
 out looking for her. She was smaller then, and her father 
 got anxious." 
 
 "But what was she doing?" 
 
 "Trying to run away. Have you never heard of chil- 
 dren doing that? Didn't you ever do it yourself?" 
 
 Mrs. Twistleton was plausible but Victor did not feel 
 persuaded by her. It was pouring rain now, and she 
 looked at him with derisive amusement when he in- 
 sisted on going out into such weather: nor did she seem 
 inclined to take any active steps to find Peggy. 
 
 "I expect you'll come across her if you do go out," 
 she said. "Look in the orchard houses. She sometimes 
 hides in one of them for warmth. At least, she used to 
 when she knew where to find the keys. I believe Pater- 
 son takes them home with him ever since she left the 
 door open and killed all the peach blossom." 
 
 Victor went out into the rain and liked it better to- 
 night than breathing the same air as Mrs. Twistleton. 
 He had kept a guard on his tongue so far, but it had not 
 been easy. Her callousness horrified him, and he felt 
 anxious and angry. Peggy must be somewhere near, 
 dead or alive: but how was he or anyone else to find 
 her? He went straight to Low Tarn and almost at once 
 saw the little newly-made grave with the spade thrown 
 down beside it. He hallooed to Peggy then, and was 
 answered by Paterson and Lloyd, the new chauffeur, on 
 the lookout too. They knew what had happened and 
 said what Victor had not allowed himself to say or even 
 to think. Nothing could be done to-night, but to-morrow 
 the tarn must be dragged and then the lake. Meanwhile 
 none of the men on the property would go to bed. They 
 and others would spend the night searching on the fells. 
 Victor said he would join them: but before doing so he 
 went back to the house and saw Mrs. Twistleton again. 
 She was still sitting over the fire with a book in her 
 hands.
 
 184 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 "I think we ought to 'phone to every house near and 
 to the police at Senwick," he said. 
 
 "We'll do that to-morrow," said she. 
 
 "The sooner the better." 
 
 "I don't agree with you. She will be back before it 
 is dark, and we shall have made a fuss about nothing. 
 It's time now to get ready for dinner." 
 
 "I'm not coming to dinner," said Victor. 
 
 She stared at him. 
 
 "I'm going to search the fells," he explained; "about 
 a dozen of us are going in different directions." 
 
 "But you must have something to eat." 
 
 "Jordan will give me something to take with me. I 
 don't want to lose any time. By the way ... I found 
 the grave." 
 
 "What grave?" 
 
 "Dingo's. Peggy buried him near Low Tarn." 
 
 Mrs. Twistleton's eyelids fluttered slightly but she did 
 not raise her eyes just then. 
 
 "After all," she said, "Dingo was only a dog. I don't 
 remember that you were much disturbed when he killed 
 Carlo. On the contrary. You persuaded my husband 
 not to have him destroyed." 
 
 "It was not Mr. Twistleton who meant to destroy him," 
 said Victor, who had a rough tongue at times when he 
 was angry. 
 
 "And Peggy had run away then," continued Mrs. 
 Twistleton. "Don't you remember? You brought her 
 back." 
 
 "I wonder if she can have taken that same path," said 
 Victor. "She may be at the Hallinwater Hotel by this 
 time. But what can she expect to do there? She has 
 no money, I suppose?" 
 
 "None at all," said Mrs. Twistleton. "But natures like 
 hers don't look ahead. They run headlong ... as her 
 mother did."
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 185 
 
 "You knew her mother?" 
 
 "Very well." 
 
 She rose lazily from her chair and looked at the young 
 man still standing restlessly beside the fire. 
 
 "You had better have some dinner," she said, and her 
 voice and manner reminded Victor of a cat that purrs 
 and rubs itself against you when it is in a friendly mood. 
 "If eleven others are looking for the tiresome child. . . ." 
 
 But as it happened, Victor did not like cats and did 
 like Peggy. Mrs. Twistleton's cajolery made no appeal 
 to him, and without much care for her feelings he said 
 again that he was going out at once and would stay out 
 all night if necessary. However, rather against his own 
 judgment, he agreed to wait till the morning before 
 stirring up the police. 
 
 In country places news flies from mouth to mouth and 
 spreads quickly: so by next day everyone knew that 
 Peggy Twistleton was missing from Beda Close. While 
 Victor sat at breakfast with Mrs. Twistleton the news 
 came through on the 'phone that she had been seen on 
 the steamer with a strange foreign-looking man who 
 carried a violin and again at the station waiting for the 
 London train. Victor spent the morning at Senwick 
 trying to communicate with the London police and put 
 them on the child's trail. When he went back to Beda 
 Close he had achieved nothing, and was in the mood to 
 curse himself for not having done last night that which 
 he had left to do this morning. If he had telegraphed 
 a description. . . . 
 
 "How could you?" said Mrs. Twistleton. "You can't 
 describe a person whose very existence is unknown to 
 you. Naturally we all thought she had done what she 
 had done before and was on the fells. It never struck 
 me that her mother had sent someone to kidnap her." 
 
 "What!" shouted Victor. 
 
 "That is what has happened. The elder Miss Pinkney
 
 186 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 has been here. She traveled with the man. He asked 
 her to point out the house and told her that he lived at 
 Siena. Daphne went there more than a year ago. I 
 generally hear where she is because poor Geoffry Cover- 
 dale's brother lives in Manchester and sometimes, when 
 I go there I see him. I'm surprised really that Daphne 
 never did this before." 
 
 "But she has no rights," said Victor, who was relieved 
 to find that Peggy was alive but felt uncertain what to 
 do next. 
 
 "None whatever," said Mrs. Twistleton.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 FGGY had been nearly a month in Siena and Daphne 
 ivas beginning to hope that no one would come 
 after her. At first she had been inclined to go 
 into hiding with the child, and if possible cover her 
 tracks. But it is notoriously difficult to hide unless you 
 can break suddenly and completely with all the circum- 
 stances, postal and financial, on which your daily life 
 depends. Besides, Peggy needed rest and careful treat- 
 ment : and she needed clothes : and clothes take time. 
 Daphne knew exactly how to dress her because she had 
 watched other children so much when she was thinking 
 of her own child. The great heat had come already 
 although it was only May, and Peggy must have the 
 daintiest white underwear procurable as well as a great 
 many little washing frocks, some all white and some 
 embroidered or printed with a dash of color. A few 
 were bought ready-made but others were ordered, and 
 some Daphne embroidered herself at home. Andrea 
 complained that she did not spend as much time as usual 
 on her music now, but in reality he reaped his reward 
 when he sat with Daphne and Peggy in the little garden 
 anu watched Daphne embroidering in white on blue linen 
 for her child. 
 
 "I want a blue frock as well as the white ones," Peggy 
 had said. "Celia Asygarth had a blue frock embroidered 
 with white. Her mother made it, and it was lovely. 
 Do you think you could make me one?" 
 
 Of course Daphne could. There was nothing Peggy 
 wanted that she should not have if Daphne could get it 
 for her. She must be dressed better than anyone else 
 
 187
 
 i88 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 and tended more carefully and enveloped with a yet 
 deeper affection than other children : and even then noth- 
 ing could make up for the past years: Daphne hung over 
 her child with such burning affection and regret that for 
 the time she lost her balance a little and forgot that her 
 business was to educate as well as to cherish. Her 
 possession was still insecure, her indignation increasing 
 as day by day the picture of Peggy's life at Beda Close 
 became fuller and more hateful. She felt as one does 
 who fiercely takes the beloved in his arms, proposing to 
 fight death with affection and win. She could do nothing 
 yet but love Peggy and tenderly indulge her, for the 
 child still had the scared look in her eyes at times that 
 Daphne could not bear to see. But you would hardly 
 have known her now for the little ragamuffin who had 
 arrived with Andrea a month ago. Her cough was much 
 better, her face had filled out already, and she went well 
 and cleanly clad. The earth was hers and everyone in 
 her mother's household was her slave. In the morning 
 old Giuditta brought her her bath and one of her new 
 frocks, murmuring pretty Italian greetings as she did so 
 that Peggy was beginning to understand and return. 
 When she was dressed she had breakfast in the big, cool 
 dining-room with her mother: a delicious breakfast of 
 eggs and honey and bread-and-butter. Then they went 
 out together, and though the shops and the dressmakers 
 were rather dull, the streets were always entertaining. 
 There were the people who hawked salted pumpkin-seeds 
 in three tiered baskets lined with green paper. Daphne 
 did not want Peggy to eat the seeds because of her 
 cough, but she let her buy some once just to try. Peggy 
 had watched men, women and children eat them the 
 other day when she had been sitting under the trees in 
 the Lizza. They just split them and then they ate the 
 seed inside. Peggy got one of her pockets full for a 
 penny and before long had filled the other pocket with
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 189 
 
 ripe cherries bought from an old man with a big barrow. 
 Daphne had tried to get her past the barrow and re- 
 minded her that there were cherries at home on their 
 own tree. But Peggy pointed out that those on the 
 barrow were a slightly different shade of red and might 
 have a different flavor. So Daphne bought her some but 
 told her not to stain her clean frock. Unfortunately by 
 the time they got to the dressmaker's a few of the cherries 
 that must have been over-ripe had made a stain : but 
 no one scolded or seemed to mind. The dressmaker said 
 that by great good fortune she had an iron hot and that 
 her sister should wash out the stain and iron the washed 
 bit while Peggy tried-on. She also produced a plate 
 for the cherries while Peggy ate them and cracked her 
 pumpkin-seeds. Trying-on was a tiresome process and 
 made you feel fidgety and inclined to cough : or perhaps 
 it was the pumpkin-seeds that made you cough. 
 
 "I'm thirsty," said Peggy, when they got into the 
 streets again. "I should like some raspberry syrup and 
 water." 
 
 So Daphne took her into Mosca's tea-rooms and let 
 her have a glass of raspberry syrup and water with 
 grated ice in it. Peggy sucked it through a straw and 
 did not ask for cakes with it, because if you eat cakes 
 at eleven you are not as hungry as you ought to be at 
 lunch, and that seems to worry everyone. Even old 
 Giuditta looked worried and threw up her hands when 
 Peggy did not eat enough. The streets in Siena were 
 not a bit like the streets in Manchester or Senwick. They 
 were all paved and had no sidewalks. The houses were 
 very high and old, and many of them had been palaces, 
 but were now let out in flats or used as business premises. 
 The street in which Mosca had his shop was generally 
 crowded and noisy, because carriages and motor-cars 
 went through it and country carts drawn by three mules. 
 Usually a cart had one big mule and two smaller ones,
 
 190 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 and as they ambled along they munched green-stuff con- 
 tained in nosebags made of rope. 
 
 "Could we have a cart with three mules ?" said Peggy. 
 "I should like one very much. I love mules. They have 
 such friendly sly eyes. I should like a cart with a big 
 square hamper behind that you can sit in." 
 
 Daphne tried to explain that only peasants used such 
 carts and was glad when a girl carrying green parrakeets 
 in a wicker cage diverted Peggy's attention : because she 
 knew that if the child made up her mind that she wanted 
 mules she would probably end by getting them. But 
 for the moment the parrakeets sufficed. Peggy explained 
 that Andrea had told her about them and would doubt- 
 lessly buy her two were he on the spot, and that if you 
 let an opportunity slip it may never come again. So 
 they went back to the flat by shady, quiet by-streets 
 carrying the wicker cage, and Peggy could not sleep that 
 afternoon because she was thinking so hard about the 
 birds. They were not like Dingo. They could not go 
 for walks with her and love her as he had done. In 
 fact, they were rather stupid compared with him, but 
 they were alive and very beautiful. 
 
 "I don't want another dog just yet," she explained 
 to her mother. "I should like the mules and I like the 
 birds. But I could not have had another dog when 
 Dingo was alive. It would have hurt his feelings: and 
 for all I know it might hurt them now that he is dead. 
 I wish you had known Dingo and I wish you knew Mr. 
 Gerard." 
 
 Daphne did not tell Peggy so, but she fervently hoped 
 that she would never know Mr. Gerard. He had been 
 kind to the child, but he had rights over her that the 
 mother did not possess, and all through the winter he 
 had deserted his post. It had been touch and go with 
 Peggy. The doctors said so. Another chill, a little more 
 neglect would have finished her. She still needed the
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 191 
 
 utmost care and would do so for a long time. Later on 
 Daphne meant to take her to one of the summer places 
 in the Apennines, but not until after the Palio in July. 
 She wanted her own doctor to watch the child for some 
 weeks longer, and Peggy, having heard tell of the Palio, 
 must needs see it. She was a very intelligent child, 
 Daphne thought, but she was ignorant and had been 
 badly taught. She was picking up Italian by ear, as 
 children do, and she was learning a little about the 
 history of Siena through the stories Andrea and Daphne 
 told her. She was taken to the Duomo one Sunday to 
 see rows and rows of children younger than herself 
 dressed like brides for their confirmation, and as they 
 came away they met the contrada of the Oca, and for the 
 first time saw the Alfieri twirling their flags about their 
 bodies and hurling them high into the air and catching 
 them again with skill. After that, whenever she heard 
 the drum in the street, she was in a fever to be out with 
 it, watching the flag-throwers and the medieval dresses 
 worn by the pages. It was explained to her that every 
 Sunday one of the seventeen wards of Siena sent its 
 represen stives to parade the streets, and she got to know 
 the different emblems by which they were known, and 
 to hope that the oca or the istrice would win, because 
 she was an istrice by right of domicile and Uncle Andrea 
 was an oca. She told her mother that she never wanted 
 to go to England again where children were sent to bed 
 early and missed all the fun. Daphne was letting her 
 sleep for some hours in the afternoon and then go out 
 late at night, as Italian children do, because when the 
 great heat came Peggy drooped at once. She could not 
 stand the fierce glare of the sun and the stuffy air in the 
 narrow, sun-baked streets, but she revived after dinner 
 when Andrea and Daphne took her to the Lizza to see 
 the fireflies. She had seen a glow-worm at home now 
 and again, but she had never seen fireflies darting
 
 192 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 amongst the plants and bushes, specks of brilliant light 
 that made her think of fairies. There were a few in 
 their own garden sometimes, but there were more on 
 the Lizza. Besides, everyone was on the Lizza, and if 
 you were lucky you might meet Lydia Bianchi, who was 
 just your age and liked ices. There were ices to be had 
 late at night, and Uncle Andrea said they did no harm. 
 Children much younger than Peggy were to be seen there 
 enjoying them. 
 
 "You had soup and chicken and Giuditta's cream cakes 
 not long ago," said Daphne one night when Andrea had 
 not been able to go with them. "I don't think you can 
 really need ices now." 
 
 "Not ices," said Peggy. "Only one. It's a thirsty 
 night: and there is Lydia . . . there in a pink frock. 
 Shall I ask her to come with us? She says gelato is a 
 diletto for her, and she only has them sometimes. When 
 her brother, who is in the navy, comes home he takes her 
 to Meucci's and gives her a grande that costs i .60. Shall 
 we go to there now ? It's quite near really, and I've had 
 no walk to-day, and afterwards we will go to the Fortezza 
 because you like the view. It has been so hot all day, 
 and now it is cool. I'm very fond of Lydia, especially 
 when something doesn't please her and she croons about 
 it to her mother. She has such a dear little funny voice 
 and I often understand what she says now." 
 
 It really seemed as if ices did not hurt Peggy even late 
 at night, so why should she not have them? and why 
 should she not invite Lydia to come to Meucci's too, 
 since Lydia was a charming child, the daughter of 
 Daphne's doctor? He was in the Lizza to-night with 
 his wife, and he only smiled and bowed when Daphne 
 spoke to him, and let Lydia go. Daphne supposed that 
 Peggy was being rather spoiled, but wasn't it good for 
 her after having been harshly treated for so long? It 
 must be good for her to be happy, and she was naturally
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 193 
 
 a sweet-tempered child, never made fractious or selfish 
 by indulgence. So the two children went to Meucci's with 
 Daphne and had big ices half vanilla and half chocolate: 
 and then they all went back to the Lizza, leaving Lydia 
 with her parents on the way. The little park was full 
 of people still, but when Daphne and Peggy got to the 
 point of the fortress and sat down on the stone seat there 
 they had it to themselves. Across intensely cultivated 
 land they looked at Siena on her hills, her ancient towers 
 and houses huddling up to the foot of the Duomo that 
 is her glory and her crown. In the foreground, stark 
 and plain, rose the huge church of S. Domenica and to 
 the right the cupola of the Carmine. The Mangia Tower 
 was hidden, but they had seen it a moment ago clear 
 against the deep starlit sky. The city was lighted now 
 and looked aglow. Beyond, to westwards, were the 
 mountains, with cypresses, some in groups, some singly, 
 like sentinels on the way to the mountains. Everywhere 
 in the undulating open country on which the sun poured 
 day by day there were olive trees and vines : while the 
 sky behind Daphne was still flushed with red, a promise 
 of fine weather for the morrow. 
 
 "Shall we live here for ever and for ever till we die," 
 said Peggy, "and come here every night and look at the 
 view ?" 
 
 Her thin little body had snuggled close up to her 
 mother and Daphne had put one arm round her. 
 
 "Are you sure you are warm?" she said anxiously. 
 "You mustn't get a chill." 
 
 "I'm as warm as pie," said Peggy, borrowing a simile 
 from Mrs. Butterfield, "especially when your arm is 
 round me. How happy we are, Mummy, aren't we? 
 Tell me about the place we are going to after the Palio. 
 Will there be any children there?" 
 
 "Ever so many," said Daphne, becoming conscious at 
 the same moment that they were not to be by themselves
 
 194 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 any longer. Someone was approaching rapidly, someone 
 who walked with a quick, firm step. As he came into 
 sight she saw him clearly enough to make out that he 
 was probably an Englishman and young. He walked as 
 her countrymen did, and she thought he was dressed 
 as they were, in tweeds. He came to a halt opposite 
 them and looked hard at Peggy. 
 
 "Well, Peggy!" he said, and before Daphne had 
 realized what was happening Peggy had given a scream 
 of delight, slipped to her feet, and was apparently making 
 a determined effort to put herself into the man's arms. 
 
 "It's Mr. Gerard!" she cried aloud. "Mummy, it's Mr. 
 Gerard !" 
 
 Daphne neither moved nor spoke. She sat there 
 quietly, the chill of misery within her, sick at heart and 
 afraid. 
 
 "May I sit down?" said Victor, and Daphne liked 
 his voice and his manner : both were courteous and kind. 
 She could not see him very clearly in the half-light, nor 
 could he see much of her, but he got an impression from 
 her frozen silence. His task was going to be a hateful 
 one, but of course he must carry it through. 
 
 "I'll sit between you and talk to you both," said Peggy, 
 "or would you rather talk to each other? I thought I 
 was never going to see you again, Mr. Gerard. They 
 told me you had gone to Australia." 
 
 "I did go there, but I've come back," said Victor. 
 
 "Why have you come to Siena?" 
 
 "I've come for you." 
 
 "But you can't have me. Mummy wants me. Don't 
 you, Mummy? You could have had me a long time ago, 
 and then you said you didn't want me. Don't you 
 remember ?" 
 
 "I don't particularly want you now, but I'm afraid 
 you'll have to come with me," said Victor.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 VICTOR knew that Daphne had left her husband 
 for a younger man and in doing so had deserted 
 her child. That was all he knew about her, and 
 he judged her hardly. He had more respect, he thought, 
 for women of Mrs. Warren's profession than for those 
 women who undertake duties and lightly throw them 
 over. If there had been no child he could have for- 
 given her, but he understood that Peggy's little life had 
 been a scramble and that she did not get on well with 
 her step-mother, to whom, nevertheless, he must now 
 insist on her returning. He hated the whole business, 
 but it had to be carried through, and he did not expect 
 hearts to be broken. Peggy must do as she was told, 
 and a woman who leaves her child for her lover must 
 be heartless or capricious : probably capricious. This 
 sudden abduction of the child after quiescence for nearly 
 six years looked like it. 
 
 He could not see her clearly and she had not spoken 
 yet. She sat there as if she was frozen, holding the 
 child tightly to her and looking not at him but at the 
 lighted city on its hills. He sat down on the other side 
 of Peggy and spoke to Daphne. 
 
 "Peggy has told you who I am," he began. 
 
 "Yes," she said. Her voice trembled a little but it 
 was sweet and low: a voice that stole upon you and was 
 not what he expected. A woman who first marries an 
 old man for his money and then runs away with a young 
 one has no business with such a voice. Her speech, 
 like her conduct, should have been hard. He would 
 
 J95
 
 196 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 have known how to deal with that. He could be hard 
 when people deserved it. 
 
 "We must talk things over," he said. 
 
 "Yes," said she again; "but not here. If you will 
 come and see me to-morrow I shall be glad to talk to 
 you." 
 
 She rose as she spoke, still keeping Peggy with her. 
 Victor felt himself gently dismissed, and asked himself 
 if he was a fool to allow it. 
 
 "You will be there, to-morrow?" he said, keeping at 
 her side. 
 
 She bowed in assent but did not speak again : while 
 Peggy caught his hand and chattered to him. 
 
 "I'm very happy here," she said; "I couldn't possibly 
 go away, not even with you, Mr. Gerard. My cough is 
 better. It was very bad all the winter after you went 
 to Australia. I'm learning Italian and I have two green 
 love-birds in a wicker cage. We have a cherry-tree in 
 our garden and I gather the cherries myself: I'll get 
 you some when you come to see us. Do you know 
 that Dingo is dead? . . . Poor Dingo! Uncle Andrea 
 and I buried him and Uncle Andrea played a funeral 
 march over his grave. She killed him just as she killed 
 Ada Dixon's kitten. I told you she liked killing things, 
 but you wouldn't believe it. Mummy won't let me talk 
 about her now and says I must forget. I do try, but 
 I can't ever forget Dingo. When he had been shot he 
 looked at me, and nearly every night when I'm going 
 to sleep I see his eyes. I believe he thought I had done 
 it. I shouldn't mind so much if I was quite sure he 
 knew now." 
 
 "What time shall I come to-morrow?" said Victor to 
 Daphne over Peggy's head. 
 
 "Come early," she said; and then, after a moment's 
 consideration, she added, "Will you come in now?" 
 
 "Yes, I will," said Victor, and walked with them
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 197 
 
 through the city to Daphne's flat. The chief streets 
 were crowded at this hour of the night, but Daphne led 
 them by quiet streets, under ancient archways, dimly 
 lighted and reminiscent of tragedies played in their 
 shadow long ago. She opened the door of her flat 
 herself, but old Giuditta appeared at once and took Peggy 
 off to bed. Daphne went into her sitting-room and 
 turned on the light. Then Victor saw her more plainly 
 than he had done yet, for as they had walked through 
 the city she had turned her face from him. He saw now 
 that she looked young and innocent and most unhappy. 
 He wished she had been a different woman or else that 
 he had never undertaken to fight her. What a fool he 
 had been! However, he was not the law of England 
 or even its recognized interpreter: nor was he in any 
 sense responsible for the law. He could make that clear, 
 he supposed. What a jolly room this was ! Spacious, 
 dignified, not crammed with stuff no one wants. Victor 
 hated rooms that were over-full. He had taken a seat 
 opposite Daphne and was watching her. She had thrown 
 off a light cloak she had worn out of doors and he saw 
 that her frock was blue, the blue of sapphires. Her eyes 
 were tragic to-night, but she was trying hard for com- 
 posure. She had beautiful slim white hands that were 
 loosely folded in her lap: but they betrayed more than 
 she wished them to betray at times. So did her bare 
 slender throat when she tried to speak. He hoped she 
 would not cry: but she did not look like a woman who 
 cried. 
 
 "You want to take my cHld from me?" she began. 
 
 "I'm sorry, but I must," said Victor. 
 
 "Why must you ?" 
 
 "It's the law." 
 
 "I don't care that for the law," said Daphne, and 
 snapped her fingers. She spoke with fire, too, and her 
 eyes began to look like Peggy's.
 
 198 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 "Women never do," said Victor tritely. 
 
 "A law that tears a child from its mother is a bad 
 one." 
 
 That was like a woman too, thought Victor: to talk 
 of a child being torn from its mother when, in this case 
 at any rate, the mother had walked out of the house, 
 leaving her child behind. 
 
 "Laws have to be obeyed," he pointed out. 
 
 "I suppose you think I deserted Peggy?" she said, 
 starting on a new talk: one he had no desire to follow. 
 He was not there to act as her judge but only to dis- 
 charge the duties laid upon him by Mr. Twistleton's will. 
 
 "I was away at the time," he began with some em- 
 barrassment. 
 
 "I went back to her," said Daphne. "I went back to 
 her: but my husband would not let me in." 
 
 Victor did not quite know what to say, so he looked 
 thoughtful and said nothing. It was possible that Mr. 
 Twistleton had behaved harshly and unjustly, but it was 
 possible too that he had felt himself irreparably ag- 
 grieved. He remembered what Mrs. Butterfield had 
 told him about Daphne standing in the snow outside the 
 house and begging in vain to have her child : and that 
 picture took on different colors now that he stood face 
 to face with her, receiving the multiple and complicated 
 impressions only to be given in personal intercourse. 
 
 "You know that she can come back to you when she 
 is sixteen?" he said, and was aware at once that what 
 he said sounded hollow and foolish. 
 
 "What do you propose to do with her if I let her 
 go?" she asked. 
 
 "There is no 'if about it," said Victor, who was get- 
 ting rather angry. "I'm afraid you'll have to let her go." 
 
 "Who will make me?" 
 
 "I'm here for that purpose, and I assure you that I 
 have forces behind me "
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 199 
 
 "I asked you what you proposed to do with her." 
 
 "Till she is sixteen she must live with Mrs. Twistleton 
 as her father arranged. I can't take her because I am 
 not married." 
 
 "It is plain that you are not married," said Daphne. 
 
 "Why is it plain?" 
 
 "Because you show a distressing ignorance of chil- 
 dren. Have you any idea of the state Peggy was in 
 when Andrea Sarzoni brought her here?" 
 
 "Who is Andrea Sarzoni?" said Victor. "I know that 
 Peggy was enticed from home by an odd-looking 
 foreigner who would have been arrested in London if I 
 had had my way and telegraphed to the police at once. 
 It would have saved us all a great deal of trouble and 
 anxiety and Mr. What's-his-name would have got what 
 he richly deserved." Victor felt that he was speaking 
 over-roughly, but he did not care. His temper, which 
 always ignited easily, was near explosion. 
 
 "Signor Sarzoni is a friend of mine," said Daphne, 
 and by the quietness of her manner had the best of it. 
 "He knew that I was breaking my heart for Peggy, so 
 he went to England and fetched her. It was a wonder- 
 ful thing to do. I don't know how I can ever repay 
 him." 
 
 "It was rather a useless thing to do," said Victor. "A 
 country like England does not allow its laws to be evaded 
 quite so easily." 
 
 "Do you know much of Mrs. Twistleton?" asked 
 Daphne. 
 
 "I know her." 
 
 "Do you know that she has ill-treated Peggy? Do 
 you know that the child has been beaten and half- 
 starved, neglected when she was ill, treated with per- 
 sistent unkindness and dislike? Have you never noticed 
 the scared look in her eyes what you might expect 
 to see in the eyes of a slum child reared in a garret
 
 200 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 with drunkards who ill-use it? She has been ill-used for 
 years. She was nothing but skin and bone when she 
 came to me. Her poor little face was old and wizened : 
 and she is my child." 
 
 "She was Mr. Twistleton's child too," said Victor. 
 "He had a father's rights and made provisions for her 
 that must be carried out. Even if I agreed with you 
 I have no power to alter them." 
 
 "You are Peggy's guardian, she tells me. You have 
 rights over her that I, her mother, have not." 
 
 "I am co-guardian with Mrs. Twistleton." 
 
 "Have you no power to take her away from Mrs. 
 Twistleton ?" 
 
 "Yes, I have," said Victor unwillingly; "but I am not 
 going to do it unless I see real need." 
 
 Daphne looked at him in horror and amazement. She 
 got up suddenly from her chair and went towards the 
 window that gave on the little garden. By the light of 
 the stars and of the rising moon she could see the cherry- 
 tree into which Peggy had climbed that day and the 
 tiled terrace on which they had sat together a few hours 
 ago. She did not know what to say next. This man 
 her husband had set over his child seemed to her as 
 hard as steel and as inflexible. He had been kind to 
 Peggy, but she saw no kindness in him now. She thought 
 she saw dislike. He was probably biased against her, 
 and when she had spoken with heat of Peggy's abomi- 
 nable treatment his face had hardened as men's faces do 
 harden when women they distrust clamor and exaggerate. 
 Probably he believed in Mrs. Twistleton. Possibly he 
 was her admirer. He looked younger than Rhoda, who 
 must be nearly forty by now: but she had probably 
 kept her youth. Those snake women did. 
 
 "You really mean that I have no rights over Peggy 
 although she is my child?" she said, turning to Victor 
 again, who by this time had risen too.
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 201 
 
 "Surely you have known that for the last six years," 
 said he. 
 
 "I knew it while her father was alive . . . but he is 
 dead. . . . Now there is no one but me ... no one 
 at all. I tell you she shall not go back to that 
 woman." 
 
 "I tell you she shall." 
 
 Daphne's hands were clenched now as she faced 
 Victor, with little hope of moving him, but in such stress 
 of mind that she fought on as a man trapped behind 
 a door he cannot open shakes it though he knows it is 
 in vain. 
 
 "She will die if she does," she said. 
 
 "She will not die. Peggy was ill in the autumn and 
 was thoroughly well looked after. I'm going to keep an 
 eye on her now, and if I'm not satisfied I shall send her 
 to a good school." 
 
 Daphne laughed. 
 
 "I amuse you !" observed Victor. 
 
 "What is Peggy to you, or you to Peggy? How old 
 are you? About thirty-three or four, I suppose. What 
 do you understand about the hourly care a child as 
 delicate as Peggy requires? Can you watch when she 
 is tired and see that she rests? Can you see that she is 
 dressed as the weather changes . . . that she never gets 
 over-heated or chilled? Can you give her the tender- 
 ness she has missed all these years? Do you think her 
 step-mother will do it? That most evil woman." 
 
 'Tm not sure that I believe much in people being 
 evil," said Victor, speaking easily because Daphne made 
 him feel rather wretched and he wanted to end the in- 
 terview on a less agitated plane. He liked the way she 
 stood up to him and he liked her, but he had his duty 
 to do. It was an unpleasant one, but that could not be 
 helped. 
 
 "People are often stupid," he conceded, and saw that
 
 202 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 her beautiful eyes could have an ironical gleam in them 
 that gave them savor. 
 
 "But you must have learned a little history at school," 
 she murmured, "and you must sometimes see the papers. 
 Every day, every hour, evil things are done and come 
 to light. More is done that never comes to light at all. 
 I tell you that Mrs. Twistleton is evil. She turned my 
 husband against me. . . ." 
 
 "How do you know?" 
 
 "I know her. But never mind about that. Peggy " 
 
 "I will leave Peggy here to-night if you will give me 
 your word of honor that I shall find her here to-morrow," 
 said Victor. "To-morrow I'm afraid I must take her 
 away." 
 
 "To-night ! To-morrow !" Victor thought the woman 
 was going to fall in a heap at his feet, but she steadied 
 herself by an effort. What it cost he could see by the 
 change in her face. He felt like an executioner, and 
 wished more than ever that he had never come. 
 
 "She is not fit to travel," said Daphne, when she could 
 speak. 
 
 "She is not going to travel ... at any rate, not yet." 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "Mrs. Twistleton is in Siena ... at the Royal." 
 
 It was like seeing dead gray ashes where a moment ago 
 you saw a glowing fire : and that scared look in her eye ! 
 Why was it in her eyes as it had been in Peggy's? She 
 was not a child who had been beaten and generally 
 ill-treated ... if those stories were all true. He must 
 keep a better watch on the child if he could, and it was 
 not going to be easy. 
 
 "After all," he argued aloud, "Mr. Twistleton must 
 have known what he was about and he left Peggy in her 
 step-mother's care." 
 
 "Why has Mrs. Twistleton come to Siena?" said 
 Daphne.
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 203 
 
 "She was coming to Italy in any case . . . coming 
 with both children and Miss Busby, their governess, for 
 some time. When we found that Peggy had been kid- 
 napped and brought here we decided to come after her. 
 You know, it wasn't playing the game, Mrs. Coverdale, 
 to carry off the child like that and leave no word. How 
 were we to know she was not drowned or lost on the 
 fells? We spent the night searching for her." 
 
 "You mean that you feared she might have drowned 
 herself after Mrs. Twistleton shot her dog? I don't 
 think English children commit suicide even when they 
 are hard pressed. I can't remember a case of it." 
 
 Daphne spoke with self-possession and her manner 
 told Victor many things that her lips left unsaid at 
 the moment. No doubt she had Peggy's complete con- 
 fidence and knew a great deal about the child's life that 
 he did not. Possibly she was right in her judgment of 
 Mrs. Twistleton, but he could not act on it without 
 further evidence. At present he had not much to go on 
 except Peggy's chance remarks about her step-mother, 
 and Peggy was a fanciful, difficult child. The killing 
 of Dingo had been an act of brutality, but he knew men 
 who could have done it in a fit of temper, given similar 
 provocation. There were probably faults on both sides. 
 
 "You give me your promise, Mrs. Coverdale?" he said. 
 "Peggy will be here in the morning?" 
 
 "She should not be if I could help it," said Daphne. 
 "But what can I do?" 
 
 Victor held out his hand, but Daphne shrank from him 
 and refused to take it. 
 
 "You won't shake hands?" 
 
 "I can't." 
 
 "Oh, very well," he said, and turned on his heel. 
 
 She did not recall him, but stood as he had left her 
 till he closed the door. Then she broke down.
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 "TTTHEN is my dear Mr. Gerard coming again?" 
 
 \\ said Peggy at breakfast next day. 
 
 "He will probably come this morning," said 
 Daphne. She had not slept all night, and though her 
 bath had refreshed her, she looked worn with her vigil. 
 Even Peggy noticed that something was wrong. 
 
 "Have you been crying, Mummy?" she said. "Your 
 eyes look as if you had been crying. They've gone back 
 in your head and the lids are red. Uncle Andrea said 
 that when I came you would never cry." 
 
 "We had an appointment with the dressmaker this 
 morning," said Daphne, with a little catch in her breath. 
 "I must send her word that we cannot come." 
 
 It was like some brutal disaster in their lives, rending 
 them asunder and upsetting all their plans. The engage- 
 ments they had made could not be carried out, even the 
 clothes Daphne had ordered for the child might never 
 be finished. Probably they would not be accepted by 
 her legal guardians. 
 
 "Why can't we go to the dressmaker?" asked Peggy. 
 
 "Because Mr. Gerard is coming here." 
 
 Peggy, who had finished her breakfast, executed a hop, 
 skip and a dance expressive of unusual joy and went 
 to look at her love-birds who were making love to each 
 other in the window. 
 
 "They are very pretty," she said, "but they are rather 
 dull. They would be more amusing if they sometimes 
 had a quarrel. Can I go and gather some cherries for 
 Mr. Gerard, Mummy? I told him I would." 
 
 204
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 205 
 
 "Don't tumble out of the tree, then," said Daphne, 
 and wondered what would happen if Peggy did tumble 
 and hurt herself seriously and was kept here for weeks 
 or months. She supposed it would be a reprieve. 
 
 "Have you told her?" said Victor directly he arrived. 
 
 "Certainly not," said Daphne. "I will leave that to 
 you." 
 
 She spoke with spirit, but he could see that she had 
 been crying her eyes out and had probably not slept. 
 She was dressed with freshness and precision, and he 
 liked that in her. By the morning light she was a lovely 
 woman and if the face is an index to the mind she was 
 a good one. He wished he had come over her threshold 
 as a friend and not as a foe. Here came Peggy helter- 
 skelter, bringing him cherries and kisses and a welcome. 
 He supposed she would set up a howl when he told her 
 why he had come : and hate him. Better get it over 
 quickly. 
 
 "Are you ready, Peggy?" he said, when the first rap- 
 tures had subsided. 
 
 "What for ?" asked Peggy, her hand stroking his tweed 
 sleeve affectionately. 
 
 "To come with me." 
 
 "Where to?" 
 
 "To the Hotel Royal." 
 
 "Are you staying there ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I'll come if Mummy does," said Peggy. 
 
 There was a momentary silence, and then Victor spoke 
 with more authority. 
 
 "Go and put your hat on," he said: and Peggy went, 
 after glancing at her mother, who made a sign of assent. 
 
 "Are you going to take her without telling her . . . 
 into a trap?" said Daphne bitterly. 
 
 "Yes, I am," said Victor with decision. "If there is 
 to be a fuss I'll have it there and not here."
 
 206 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 "Do you expect me to bid her good-by as if I was 
 letting her go for half an hour?" 
 
 "Yes, I do." 
 
 Daphne went out of the room before he could attempt 
 to stop her, and when the door opened again Peggy 
 came in by herself. 
 
 "I'm ready," she announced. 
 
 "Have you said good-by to your mother?" he asked, 
 wondering what had happened. 
 
 "Yes," said Peggy cheerfully. "She came in and said 
 good-by to me. I'm afraid she has crumpled my frock 
 rather, because she squeezed me so hard. We said 
 good-by for ever so long. Did you think I took all that 
 time to put on a hat? Mummy isn't coming to say 
 good-by to you and she won't come with us. It would 
 be a pity if she didn't like you, wouldn't it, as I like 
 you so much. I wonder why she was crying when she 
 bid me good-by." 
 
 "Come along," said Victor, not quite sure whether he 
 felt most like Judas Iscariot or one of the ruffians he 
 had seen in a picture yesterday of the Slaughter of the 
 Innocents. But he could not carry Peggy howling 
 through the streets of Siena, and presumably she would 
 howl when she was confronted with her step-mother 
 again. He had not wanted Mrs. Twistleton to come, but 
 she said she had always wished to see the city and did 
 not intend to avoid it because Daphne happened to live 
 there. They need not meet. Also, she pointed out that 
 it would save Victor inconvenience. If she was not 
 there to receive Peggy he would have to travel with the 
 child : and children were troublesome traveling com- 
 panions. Victor did not doubt that. They were trouble- 
 some creatures at all times. Here was this one at his 
 side ... no end to the trouble she caused . . . and the 
 heartbreak. He would like to see Daphne again, if only 
 to assure her that Peggy was well and happy: but
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 207 
 
 would he be received, and would Peggy be well and 
 happy ? 
 
 Victor had kept hold of the child's hand because now 
 that he had got her he did not intend to let her go, but 
 they were not on the way to the Royal. He had a good 
 hour to spare before lunch-time, and he had not seen 
 the Duomo yet: so he had proposed to Peggy that they 
 should go there together. 
 
 "I should like that," said Peggy, "and if you like I 
 will tell you all about it. But perhaps you know more 
 than I do," she added, remembering her manners. How- 
 ever, Victor assured her that he knew nothing at all 
 about the Duomo and that he had not brought his guide- 
 book with him, and that he was ready to be instructed 
 by Peggy to the limit of her capacity. 
 
 "You do use long words," said Peggy, looking up at 
 his profile and giving his hand a little squeeze that still 
 further depressed his spirits. "You see this great arch 
 that we are under now? They began that in 1339 be- 
 cause they wanted their cathedral to be bigger than any- 
 one else's, because they are a very vain people. Dante 
 says so. But the plague came and killed most of them 
 and they never had money enough afterwards. Would 
 you like to go in at the side? No, we must look at 
 the fagade first and I will tell you about that and about 
 the Campanile. I've seen the Leaning Tower at Pisa 
 and been up to the top of it. Did you ever do that?" 
 
 "We came by Pisa," said Victor heedlessly. "I didn't 
 go to the top of the tower. The heat was terrific." 
 
 "Why do you say 'we'?" inquired Peggy. "Who was 
 with you?" 
 
 They were sitting now on the long stone seat beneath 
 the hospital facing the fac.ade of the Duomo. They were 
 in shade, but the sun beat upon the glistening front of 
 the cathedral so that it looked as white and shining as 
 a giant wedding-cake and as new, The broad space
 
 208 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 between the hospital and the bottom of the cathedral 
 steps was nearly empty at this hour. One or two beggars 
 loitered in shady spots on the look-out for likely victims, 
 at intervals a motor-lorry thundered past, and on the 
 stone seat itself two seedy-looking men were enjoying a 
 morning nap. There were so few people about that 
 each one became noticeable, and as Victor got up to go 
 into the cathedral he saw Miss Busby and Mabel coming 
 with a dragging step their way. He had made his move 
 because he did not mean to answer Peggy's question 
 yet, but the inopportune appearance of the governess 
 and the elder girl answered it for him. At the moment 
 he had let Peggy's hand go, but he saw her stop stock 
 still and turn first red with surprise and then pale with 
 fright. She looked at him. 
 
 "Did you know they were here?" she said. 
 
 "Yes, I knew," said he. "Come along, Peggy. We 
 won't wait for them. We'll go in by ourselves." 
 
 "Is she here?" 
 
 "Speak properly," he ordered rather roughly, for like 
 other men he was apt to use the rough edge to his tongue 
 when the situation confounded and annoyed him. "Yes, 
 Mrs. Twistleton is here." 
 
 "At the Royal?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Then I won't go there. Thank you very much for 
 asking me, Mr. Gerard, but I must go back to Mummy 
 now. I know the way." 
 
 She took a step in the right direction, but of course 
 Victor had her by the wrist in a moment, and though she 
 tried to get away it did not take her long to realize that 
 his hand was like a ring of iron against her puny efforts. 
 So she burst into tears. 
 
 "Come into the cathedral before they get up to us," 
 said Victor, for Miss Busby and Mabel were still crawling 
 slowly across another part of the sun-baked piazza and
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 209 
 
 had not noticed them yet. "I want to talk to you: but 
 you must leave off crying." 
 
 "I don't want to go into the Duomo. I want to go 
 home," wailed Peggy. 
 
 "You must do as you are told," said Victor, and 
 thanked his stars that the scene was empty: because 
 Peggy's sobs were getting louder as he made her walk 
 with him to the cathedral steps. 
 
 "I want to go home. Let me go home," she said again 
 and again, until he lost his patience. 
 
 "You are not going home," he said, "and if you howl 
 like that I won't take you into the cathedral. Are you 
 going to behave yourself?" 
 
 "No," said Peggy: and kicked him. They were on 
 the top of the steps by that time, close to the doors, and 
 he saw that Miss Busby and Mabel were making for the 
 stone seat and would soon turn round and see them. So 
 he pushed the child through the door and spoke to her 
 severely. 
 
 "Be quiet!" he said. "I'm very angry with you," and 
 his voice carried conviction. He had never spoken to 
 her like that before, and when he did all the tumult 
 within her seemed to die away beneath the weight of 
 his displeasure. Besides, the sudden change from the 
 garish sun outside into the cold, quiet darkness of the 
 cathedral had its effect. The great striped columns im- 
 posed themselves: the hush of the place made any per- 
 sonal noise unseemly. At the far end of the immense 
 nave she could see the bronze tabernacle and the angels 
 of bronze guarding it. Just beyond where they stood, 
 through brimming eyes, she saw one of the fonts she had 
 meant to tell him about. Though she was crying she 
 could see the marble tortoise that had made her wish for 
 a live tortoise of her own : but Victor did not stay near 
 them. He led her to a marble seat near the Cappella 
 del Voto and they sat down there together, he still hold-
 
 210 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 ing her hand. They had the huge place almost to them- 
 selves for the time. One old woman was praying near 
 the pulpit and another in front of the Cappella del Voto, 
 but otherwise there was not one to be seen. 
 
 "You must try to be sensible and understand what I 
 say to you," began Victor, speaking in a low voice. "Your 
 father left you in my care and in Mrs. Twistleton's." 
 
 A violent shudder convulsed Peggy's frame when her 
 step-mother was mentioned, and Victor went on speaking 
 rather hurriedly and in a harder tone than he would 
 have used if he had not thought hardness the best tonic 
 for her unloosed emotions. 
 
 "You know, don't you, that you cannot live with your 
 mother till you are sixteen?" 
 
 "But I did live with her," said Peggy. 
 
 Victor lost his patience again, which was wrong of 
 him: but he was not used to children. 
 
 "You're not going to live with her a day longer," he 
 said. "It was very naughty of you to run away as 
 you did." 
 
 "I'd run away again if I could," sobbed Peggy. 
 
 "I've no doubt you would : but I'll take care you don't. 
 You're coming with me now, and you'd better behave 
 yourself. You may not think it, but I can be extra- 
 ordinarily disagreeable when people annoy me." 
 
 "I suppose you mean I mustn't kick you again," said 
 Peggy. "I wouldn't have done it if I'd had time to think : 
 but I wanted with all my might and main to get away." 
 
 "Yes, I know there are extenuating circumstances," 
 said Victor. "Otherwise. . . ." 
 
 His voice was kind again and his eyes had the twinkle 
 in them that made Peggy watch them and like them. 
 His hand closed on hers strongly and with promise: as 
 much as to say that he had come back now and would 
 take care of her. 
 
 "But Mummy will cry if I don't go back," she said.
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 211 
 
 "She will cry dreadfully. It is so unkind of me to stay 
 away when she wants me." 
 
 "She has done without you for a long while," sug- 
 gested Victor. 
 
 "But she cried all the time and was never happy. 
 Uncle Andrea said so. That was why he fetched me." 
 
 As she spoke she saw Miss Busby and Mabel advanc- 
 ing towards them, apparently more interested in this en- 
 counter than in anything else around them. 
 
 "Well, Peggy!" said Mabel. "Crying as usual. But 
 how smart you look, doesn't she, Miss Busby? Smart 
 and tidy. I see you're wearing white shoes and stock- 
 ings " 
 
 "Hush!" said Miss Busby. "We should always re- 
 member, my dear, that though this is not a church for 
 us it is a church for the poor Italians. What peculiar 
 taste they havel I'm not sure that I like these black 
 and white stripes, though they might look well on a 
 jumper. Can you tell us what we ought to admire, Mr. 
 Gerard, or shall we need a guide? Not now, of course. 
 It is nearly lunch-time and we shall have to cross the 
 square in that blinding heat again. I knew it wasn't 
 worth while coming this morning, but Mabel was in a 
 fidget to see some of the sights. I suppose you've seen 
 them all, Peggy, as you've been here a month or more?" 
 
 When Miss Busby was in a conversational vein she 
 rarely expected an answer to a question, and she now 
 turned to Victor again and continued : 
 
 "You would hardly think that the children were step- 
 sisters and had not seen each other for weeks, would 
 you? But Peggy is certainly peculiar in some ways. 
 They are staring at each other just as dogs do before 
 they start a fight. But they can't fight in a church, 
 luckily. I thought Mabel would be so glad to have Peggy 
 back. She is always complaining that she feels so dull 
 and has nothing to do. I must say that in my humble
 
 212 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 opinion hotel life is not the thing for girls of their age. 
 It is unsettling. Well, Mabel dear, don't you wish to 
 give Peggy a kiss and welcome her' back ? Not in the 
 church, of course, but directly we get outside . . . only 
 you must be careful not to get sunstroke." 
 
 "I don't mind," said Mabel primly ; "but if I do she'll 
 probably wipe it off with her handkerchief." 
 
 "I should," said Peggy. "I don't want you to kiss 
 me. I don't want to come. Why couldn't you all leave 
 me alone?" 
 
 "Peggy!" said Victor warningly, and signed to the 
 children to precede them out of the church. 
 
 "Isn't the glare terrible!" bleated Miss Busby, when 
 they emerged into it. "It makes me feel quite dizzy. 
 Oh, thank you, Mr. Gerard! I shall be glad of your 
 arm down the steps. What do you say that unfinished 
 building we came through is? A cathedral that was to 
 be bigger than this one? But this one is much bigger 
 than such a small city can need. It would do for Man- 
 chester: but I suppose the front would not look as clean 
 as it does here. I wonder where Peggy is off to? Look 
 at her." 
 
 Victor looked, ran, and caught Peggy again. 
 
 "It's no use," he said. "If you reached your mother 
 I should reach you half an hour later. If she took you 
 out of Siena I should find out where you had gone and 
 follow you. You are only making trouble for yourself." 
 
 "But I want her," said Peggy. "You don't know how 
 badly I want her."
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 PEGGY had been gone more than a week and Andrea 
 Sarzoni had fallen into his old ways. Every even- 
 ing he played with Daphne: or if she was too 
 tired for duets he played to her. But he could not help 
 her, and he knew it. When they were not at their music 
 they would sit on the little tiled terrace together near 
 the cherry-tree in which Peggy had clambered when she 
 wanted the fruit. The noises of the city hardly reached 
 them, but every night after the breathless heat of the 
 day the breeze came from the mountains and just stirred 
 the tendrils of Daphne's hair as she sat, sad and silent, 
 in her chair. Andrea knew that she was fretting her 
 heart out, but she did not say much: and he fretted 
 because there was nothing he could do for her now. He 
 had proposed that they shoult entice Peggy to them again 
 and take her to the mountains: not those they saw as 
 they sat there, but others beyond Florence and more 
 difficult to reach. But Daphne said they were sure to 
 be followed. The Englishman did not mean to let 
 
 Peggy g- 
 
 "I can believe it," said Andrea gloomily. "I have seen 
 him coming out of the hotel. He walks like one who 
 would go through what stands in his way rather than 
 around it: and his eyes are like steel. If he was with 
 us instead of against us we should know what to do." 
 
 "We can do nothing," said Daphne hopelessly. "Soon 
 they will leave Siena and take my bambina with them 
 and I shall never see her again because she will die. 
 Three times I have seen her since that man took her 
 away and each time I was angry because I could not 
 
 213
 
 214 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 interfere. The first time was at night. The whole party 
 sat at the restaurant in the Lizza and the two children 
 were eating ices. Peggy had on one of those thin white 
 frocks I got her. . . ." 
 
 "You sent her her clothes?" interrupted Andrea. 
 
 "Yes. I sent them without a word and they were 
 accepted without a word. But I was telling you about 
 Peggy. The night was cool and she should have worn a 
 little woolen coat over her frock. I saw her shiver and 
 I heard her begin to cough. Then I went away because 
 I could not bear it. I have asked Professor Bianchi if 
 he has been called in, but he has not seen the child since 
 she left me. The next time she was in a carriage, and 
 the carriage had no baldachino. She sat with her back 
 to the horse in the scorching sun while the other child 
 sat in the shade of her mother's umbrella. She looked 
 white and ill. Then yesterday I was driving and passed 
 them in the Via Ricasoli, and I saw that Peggy looked 
 tired again and as white as a sheet. These are all little 
 things, Andrea, but I feel sure that it is not well with 
 the child. We know that they are not kind to her." 
 
 "Did you reason with the Englishman ?" asked Andrea. 
 
 "An Englishman doesn't listen to reason when he has 
 the law on his side. He says so-and-so is the law: and 
 the law must be obeyed. Even when it is stupid and 
 cruel it must be obeyed." 
 
 Andrea sighed and took up his violin. It was about 
 time for him to go: but he it put down again for a 
 moment because the bell rang, and there was the sound 
 outside of an arrival and of a quick firm step across the 
 marble floor of the hall. 
 
 "Ecco!" said Andrea. "The Englishman! I hear his 
 walk." 
 
 "Why does he come?" said Daphne under her breath, 
 and then had to receive Victor because Giuditta brought 
 him out there.
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 215 
 
 Andrea's melancholy eyes watched him as he made 
 his entry and sat down near Daphne, but did not offer 
 her his hand. He himself, on being presented, made a 
 low bow and received a sufficiently polite one in return. 
 The man had an agreeable exterior. You could see by 
 the set of his shoulders that he had been drilled, and he 
 was dressed with that mysterious combination of ease 
 and precision peculiar to Englishmen. Andrea had a 
 new linen suit on and a straw hat : and he did not look 
 or feel so much like a queer foreign mountebank here in 
 Siena as he had done in an English railway carriage. He 
 was at home and the Englishman was not. At least, it 
 should have been so. But Daphne and Victor were both 
 English and seemed to make their own atmosphere. 
 Probably they wished to talk to each other in their own 
 tongue. Victor had just said that he neither spoke nor 
 understood Italian. So Andrea again got up to go, and 
 this time accomplished his exit quickly : but Daphne kept 
 his hand in hers a moment longer than usual as they 
 bid good-by, and her eyes seemed to say to him, "It is 
 you who are my friend." When she sat down in her 
 chair again she waited for Victor to speak, and he waited 
 till the street door had closed behind Andrea. 
 
 "Do you mind my coming to see you?" he said then. 
 
 "Why have you come?" said she. 
 
 "I thought you'd like to hear about Peggy." 
 
 "I have seen Peggy three times. She is ill again." 
 
 "Well . . . she got a bit of a chill one night in the 
 Lizza: but she's nearly all right again. Shall I bring 
 her to see you some day?" 
 
 "Yes," said Daphne, after a moment's hesitation. 
 
 Victor saw that his proposal took her by surprise and 
 moved her deeply. He saw her clasped hands clasp 
 themselves more tightly and her eyes looked as if heaven 
 had opened for a moment: the heaven she desired and 
 that he was obliged to deny her.
 
 216 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 "When shall we come ?" he asked, fascinated : and he 
 did not know himself that his voice had tones in it few 
 people ever heard. 
 
 "Soon . . . soon," said Daphne. "To-morrow, at 
 teatime," and when he went she offered him her 
 hand. 
 
 Victor had gone to see Daphne without any fixed pur- 
 pose, and the proposal to take Peggy there had been 
 made on impulse when he saw how unhappy she looked. 
 He was staying on in Siena he hardly knew why: to 
 see the Palio: to make sure that Peggy was getting on 
 well : because he had nothing else to do and it was too 
 hot for railway journeys. As he was here he could 
 make things a little pleasanter for Daphne by taking her 
 child to see her occasionally: if she would let him. It 
 might be incorrect legally : but he was not going to trouble 
 about that. He had obeyed the law when he took Peggy 
 from her and the stony misery in her face had haunted 
 him ever since. Now that he knew her it did seem a 
 pity that the child could not be left with her since she 
 made Peggy happy and wanted her so much. The family 
 party at the hotel was not harmonious and Victor escaped 
 from it when he could. Mrs. Twistleton was bored by 
 Siena and showed it, but, for reasons she did not explain, 
 refused to leave. Miss Busby felt the heat as an affliction 
 and did not like the cooking. She complained to Victor 
 that she had to spend the whole day indoors because 
 the children did lessons in the morning and in the after- 
 noon it was too hot to go out. 
 
 "I've been used all my life to regular exercise from 
 two till four, but here it is impossible," she said. "Be- 
 sides, Peggy is a greater strain than ever now that I am 
 responsible for her not running away. I wish dear Mrs. 
 Twistleton could be persuaded to go where it is cooler 
 . . . Switzerland, for instance, or the Tyrol. We did 
 all the sights here in a week, and I can't think what the
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 217 
 
 attraction is now. I don't suppose the Palio will be in the 
 least like Epsom or Ascot." 
 
 "It will not. You may make up your mind to that," 
 said Victor. 
 
 "And as for taking a horse inside a church ... I 
 call it blasphemous. . . . Besides, the horse won't know 
 where it is. . . ." 
 
 The embarrassing idea that checked the flow of Miss 
 Busby's lament gave Victor a chance of saying that he 
 wanted to take Peggy out for the afternoon and could he 
 get hold of her at once, please? Miss Busby, who was 
 ready at all times to fetch and carry for Mr. Gerard, said 
 that she would go and see, but that it might take a few 
 minutes to make Peggy presentable. Not that it would 
 be difficult now that she had such a variety of clothes. 
 
 "I believe that I caught sight of Mrs. Coverdale two 
 days ago," she said. "We were walking and she was 
 driving. What a beautiful woman she is, and so young! 
 How sad it seems that she should have gone off the rails. 
 Excuse my slang." 
 
 Perhaps Victor's glance at his watch suggested that 
 he was in a hurry. At any rate, after waiting a moment 
 for some answer to her remarks, and getting none, Miss 
 Busby departed. In about ten minutes she came back 
 with Peggy dressed in one of her new frocks and bub- 
 bling with pleasure and excitement. 
 
 "Where shall I say you have gone?" simpered Miss 
 Busby. 
 
 "You needn't say anything," said Victor, and walked 
 out of the hotel with Peggy, hand in hand. 
 
 "He has a rath r cavalier manner at times," said Miss 
 Busby, explaining the situation to Mrs. Twistleton a little 
 later. "I wonder where they have gone." 
 
 Mrs. Twistleton wondered too, and gave a guess that 
 disturbed and annoyed her: but she did not try to en- 
 lighten Miss Busby. She put on a cool, becoming frock,
 
 218 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 and drawing her bow at a venture went for a little 
 walk and found Victor sitting in front of the Duomo 
 looking bored. 
 
 "Where is Peggy?" she said, sitting down beside him. 
 
 "I've let her go to see her mother," said he. 
 
 "I think you should have consulted me first," said 
 Mrs. Twistleton, showing her annoyance. 
 
 "I expect I should," admitted Victor. 
 
 "I should have been against it." 
 
 "I daresay that's why I didn't ask you." 
 
 "It isn't fair to me. How am I to control the child 
 if these hostile influences " 
 
 "Why don't you go away from Siena then?" said 
 Victor bluntly. "I can't think what keeps you here : and 
 it's torture for Mrs. Coverdale." 
 
 "I am not in any way bound to consider Mrs. Cover- 
 dale. She has brought such troubles as she has on 
 herself. But I confess that I've not much faith in a 
 mother-love that first deserts a child and then lives six 
 or seven years without seeing it." 
 
 "How could she see it? She was not allowed access." 
 
 "No one could have prevented her staying in the neigh- 
 borhood, I suppose. These sudden caprices do not im- 
 press me. There is probably some other man about by 
 this time who is moved by the pathetic stop. What sort 
 of creature is the Italian who fetched the child?" 
 
 "I don't know," said Victor, too angry to say that 
 he had met Sarzoni or to describe his appearance. At 
 times he was beginning to dislike Rhoda Twistleton in- 
 tensely. He did to-day, when even under her veil he 
 could see her make-up and the wrink'es at the corners 
 of her heavy-lidded eyes. Why had she sought him out 
 here? He got up to go. 
 
 "I've promised to fetch Peggy," he said, lifted his hat, 
 and went.
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 219 
 
 Mrs. Twistleton sat still and watched him helplessly. 
 It was a bitter moment for her, for she knew that he 
 went from her in displeasure, and that her tactics had 
 been clumsy. She had seen Daphne on both occasions 
 when Daphne had seen her, and had been gratified by 
 those elements in the situation that the younger woman 
 had found painful: but she had not been gratified by 
 Daphne's increased beauty. She had not been prepared 
 for it. Her ideas went back eleven years, when Mr. 
 Twistleton had brought a girl of seventeen to Manchester 
 and asked Rhoda to befriend her. There had never been 
 any friendship between them, and Rhoda still thought 
 of her predecessor as she had known her first: a shy, 
 unhappy, high-spirited creature being gradually broken 
 by life, bewildered and lonely. To-day Daphne looked 
 as if life had molded and made her, sadly, perhaps, 
 but exquisitely. She was no longer penniless, she was 
 no longer in bondage : but she had lost her child. Mrs. 
 Twistleton thought of the clothes that had been sent to 
 Peggy and smiled. They meant a great deal, and she 
 knew just how much. They represented more than the 
 money they had cost : far more. Mabel was never dressed 
 so finely and carefully, and she was jealous of the pretty 
 things Peggy now possessed. The children bickered more 
 than ever, and Miss Busby was insufferable with her 
 complaints and her everlasting neuralgia. But Mrs. 
 Twistleton did not mean to leave Siena just yet. The 
 position was piquant, though it was not developing quite 
 as she wished. She wanted Victor as well as Peggy 
 for her own. She wanted him rather badly. It had been 
 mortifying just now to see him get up and go. 
 
 Meanwhile, Victor marched across the piazza and 
 through the crowded streets in an angry mood. Legally 
 he was allied with Mrs. Twistleton against Daphne, and 
 he was beginning to find the position unpleasant. He
 
 220 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 could not get out of it, however, unless he left Siena, and 
 that would not take him out of it really. So he might 
 as well stay. He wished he had never taken up his 
 quarters in the same hotel. He was seeing too much of 
 Mrs. Twistleton and that fool of a governess. He was 
 wasting his time, too. Never in his life had he wasted 
 so much time. Peggy should come home at once and 
 he would take a good hard walk outside the house. 
 What he wanted was exercise. This hanging about nar- 
 row streets and churches did not suit him. 
 
 "How late you are! We thought you were never 
 coming, and we want our tea dreadfully," said Peggy, 
 directly he entered the room. 
 
 "You haven't waited, surely?" said Victor, but he saw 
 that they had, and that, as Peggy pointed out, there 
 were lovely things for tea: first little rolls and butter, 
 and then cakes, and then wild strawberries with a little 
 wine and sugar and then oh bliss ! ice cream. They 
 had it on the terrace, where it was quiet and shady and 
 almost cool. Daphne wore white to-day and looked a 
 little worn by the heat, but happy because Peggy was 
 with her. Giuditta came to and fro waiting on them. 
 The love-birds crooned to each other and Peggy chat- 
 tered and enjoyed her tea. She looked a different child 
 up here with her mother. Little as Victor knew about 
 children, he could see that. 
 
 "I wish I needn't ever go back," she began when tea 
 was over and she had eaten more ice-cream than Daphne 
 wished her to. Daphne evidently could not say "No" 
 to her. Victor saw that too. 
 
 "Can't you leave me here, Mr. Gerard ?" 
 
 "I'm afraid I can't/' said Victor. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 Victor looked at Daphne and did not attempt to an- 
 swer the child.
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 221 
 
 "You mustn't tease, Peggy," said Daphne. "At your 
 age you can't have everything explained to you." 
 
 "You just do as you are told. It's quite easy," said 
 Victor. "Go and put on your hat now, Peggy. I promised 
 Miss Busby to return you safely at six, and it's half-past 
 six now." 
 
 "Then you can't keep your promise and I needn't go 
 yet," said Peggy. 
 
 "Do as I tell you," said Victor in his lowest and 
 gentlest voice : the one that meant you must obey whether 
 you wanted to or not ; but the odd thing about it was 
 that you always did want to so much that your unwill- 
 ingness melted away. For instance, to-day you did not 
 want to go, but you knew that you must, and you did 
 not mind because it was Mr. Gerard. It was rather 
 contradictory and difficult to understand. However, 
 Peggy, pouting a little but obedient, went for her hat. 
 Daphne, rather amused, looked on. 
 
 "You seem able to manage a child," she said. 
 
 "I ? Not at all. I don't like children," said Victor. 
 
 "Don't you like Peggy?" 
 
 "Not much. Look at the trouble she is to us all." 
 
 "She would be no trouble to anyone if she was with 
 me." 
 
 "She would eat too much ice-cream," said Victor, and 
 their eyes met, his twinkling with laughter and hers 
 taken by surprise. 
 
 "How can I say 'No' to her when she is with me for 
 a moment like a dream?" said Daphne, her voice 
 troubled. "But the dream has been a delight. I can 
 live on it till it conies again. It is kind of you. . . ." 
 
 "When shall we come again? When may I come 
 again ?" 
 
 "Whenever you please." 
 
 "Without Peggy as well as with her?"
 
 222 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 "If you like." 
 
 "Will you play to me some evening?" 
 
 "Come to dinner to-morrow," said Daphne. "To-night 
 I shall be playing with Signer Sarzoni, but to-morrow 
 I shall be alone."
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 AT dinner that night Peggy was full of airs and 
 graces. That the two children should have been 
 allowed to sit up to dinner at all surprised and 
 grieved Miss Busby, who said that she had been used 
 all her life to quiet evenings. She supposed it was a case 
 of doing what the Romans do when in Rome, and in 
 such overpowering heat it was certainly impossible to 
 venture out of doors before six. Still, she did not think 
 hotel food suitable for children at night. However, Mrs. 
 Twstleton had said they were all to come down. 
 
 Miss Busby sighed. She grumbled without ceasing 
 to Victor and the children, but not to Mrs. Twistleton, 
 who had a way of cutting her short that was effective 
 but unkind, and Mrs. Twistleton had just appeared. 
 
 "I suppose you and Mabel have been to sleep all the 
 afternoon," she said now, for she heard the end of the 
 lady's plaint. 
 
 "We did lie down," admitted Miss Busby. "When 
 you can't go to bed till twelve because of the noise out- 
 side and wake early as I do. . . ." 
 
 "You know I had to wake you at half-past five this 
 afternoon," said Mabel. "I could hear you snore through 
 the wall." 
 
 "I've not been to sleep," said Peggy, who sat next to 
 Victor at dinner by his desire, and took strength from 
 his proximity. "I've not been to sleep. But I've had 
 ices for tea: ices and strawberries." 
 
 "Where did you have tea?" asked Mabel enviously. 
 
 "With my mother. So did Mr. Gerard. I don't want 
 223
 
 224 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 this hot soup. It would make me forget the ice. Can 
 I leave it, Mr. Gerard?" 
 
 "No," said Victor. "Eat your dinner and be quiet." 
 
 For he saw a storm gathering in Mrs. Twistleton's face 
 and did not want it to break either on Peggy's head or 
 on his own. He had not realized beforehand that Peggy 
 would chatter about a visit to her mother, but he ought 
 to have done. Children always did what was tiresome 
 and inconvenient, and he would like someone to tell him 
 why he was sitting here at dinner with two who did not 
 belong to him. 
 
 "Couldn't you take me with you ?" inquired Mabel. 
 
 "I'll ask next time I go," said Peggy. 
 
 "There will be no next time," said Mrs. Twistleton 
 harshly. "I shall not allow you to go again." 
 
 Peggy turned her scared eyes first on her step-mother 
 and then on Victor, as if to ask him whether he was 
 going to second such a veto and if it could be imposed 
 without him. But the mask of his face told her nothing. 
 He helped himself to tomatoes stuffed with rice and ate 
 them silently. The rest of the meal was uncomfortable 
 and chiefly sustained by Miss Busby's prattle, which was 
 meant to be helpful but only succeeded in being weari- 
 some. She saw that dear Mrs. Twistleton was annoyed, 
 and she rather thought that dear Mr. Gerard was an- 
 noyed too. Two such strong natures ! 
 
 "You can take the children to the Lizza for an hour 
 and then they must go to bed," Mrs. Twistleton said to 
 her directly they got up from table. 
 
 "Can't we have ices to-night?" said Mabel. 
 
 "No," said her mother sharply. 
 
 "I've had ices," said Peggy, with an insufferable air of 
 triumph, and though she did not put out her tongue at 
 Mabel, the pink tip of it certainly appeared and dis- 
 appeared as they left the dining-room. Mrs. Twistleton, 
 followed by Victor, went to a corner of the lounge and
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 225 
 
 ordered coffee there. They both lighted cigarettes and 
 seemed to be in a silent mood. Mrs. Twistleton was in 
 a state of nervous exasperation that showed itself in the 
 lines about her mouth and the sulky gloom of her eyes. 
 Victor feared she wanted to quarrel with him and wished 
 he could get away : but he thought it would not be easy. 
 He could not plead an engagement in a town where 
 he knew no one but Daphne, and if he said he was going 
 for a stroll Mrs. Twistleton would probably offer to go 
 with him. Till lately he had thought her a woman of 
 tact and discretion, but here in Siena she had shown 
 herself wanting in these qualities. She was too much 
 with him and not always agreeable. . . . 
 
 "I suppose you are very angry ?" she began, when some 
 people at a neighboring table went out and left them in 
 their corner with no one near. 
 
 "Why should I be angry?" 
 
 "Because of what I said to Peggy at dinner: but I 
 felt driven to it." 
 
 "I think you made a mistake." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "You spoke without the power to enforce. Isn't that 
 a mistake as a rule?" 
 
 "You mean you will take Peggy to see her mother in 
 spite of what I said ?" 
 
 "You should not have said it." 
 
 "The situation is intolerable. I know I can end it 
 to-morrow by leaving Siena, but I don't choose to yet. 
 It is you who make it difficult. It need not have been. 
 I thought you came here as my friend. I thought that 
 we should act together. . . ." 
 
 This was worse than anything. Victor turned hot and 
 cold with the discomfort of it. He hoped he was not a 
 fatuous man, but there are glances and tones no one can 
 mistake : and how is a man to answer approaches he has 
 not invited and does not desire? A woman may be as
 
 226 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 curt as she pleases in her rejection of unwelcome ad- 
 dresses, but the strong unwritten laws of chivalry make 
 it difficult for men when they are pursued instead of 
 pursuing. They must pretend, as long as they can, not 
 to see. 
 
 "You want to stay for the Palio?" he said. 
 
 "I want to. We have our seats. It's only a week now. 
 When shall you see Mrs. Coverdale again?" 
 
 "To-morrow. I'm going to dine with her." 
 
 He did not know why he should be made to feel like a 
 criminal when he announced this harmless engagement, 
 but there could be no doubt about the offense it gave: 
 and Mrs. Twistleton, who could usually keep her temper 
 when it served her to do so, now lost it. 
 
 "It would have been in better taste not to tell me," 
 she said, and her voice was unsteady with rage. Peggy's 
 stories about her step-mother, which he had only half 
 believed, crossed Victor's mind with uncomfortable 
 reality. They were illustrated and supported by the 
 lowering passion in the face before him. He only an- 
 swered her last remark by a slight movement of dis- 
 pleasure. 
 
 "It was not what my husband expected . . . this 
 friendship with his first wife," she continued more 
 smoothly. "It would have surprised him." 
 
 "It surprises me," said Victor. "But one takes life 
 as it comes." 
 
 "It places you in the opposite camp." 
 
 "What do you mean? The poor woman is breaking 
 her heart because I took her child from her by main 
 force. I felt like a brute when I did it. So to-day I 
 let the child go there for two or three hours, and to- 
 morrow. . . ." 
 
 "To-morrow you are to reap your reward. I under- 
 stand."
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 227 
 
 "Well, I'm going out," said Victor, and got up. He 
 was furiously angry, and not only angry, but harassed. 
 He wanted to take the taste out of his mouth, he said 
 to himself, the evil taste of envy and insinuation: and 
 to shake off the uncomfortable impressions of the last 
 half-hour. He walked as far as the Porta Camollia 
 first, but the air was breathless to-night and the paved 
 street noisy and dusty. So on his way back he struck 
 across the Lizza and made for the point of the fortress 
 from which he had seen Siena on her hills by night. 
 As he approached it he saw the glow of sunset through 
 the trees and stood for a while watching it. In the 
 distance the mountains slept in the balmy haze of the 
 Italian night. The sky was beginning to be full of stars 
 and up here the air was faintly stirring and cooler than 
 in the city. There were a few people about, but not 
 many. The crowds were in the streets or in the broad 
 graveled paths below. When he got to the stone seat 
 he wanted there was one figure on it. His heart leaped 
 against his side when he saw that it was Daphne. 
 
 "I thought you were at home . . . having music," he 
 said. 
 
 "Signor Sarzoni put me off," she said, "so I came out 
 for a breath of air." 
 
 "It's late for you to be out alone . . . isn't it?" 
 
 "Not for Siena. Everyone is out now after the heat 
 of the day. I've met half my friends." 
 
 "But you'll let me see you home afterwards, won't 
 you? The streets are very crowded." 
 
 "I go back by quiet ways that you wouldn't know." 
 
 The bad taste had gone. To be with Daphne after 
 the other woman was like hearing music after a brawl. 
 Her face was beauty and her voice was peace. An idea 
 hatched that moment in the serenity and charm of her 
 presence came to his lips.
 
 228 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 "I'm so glad I've met you," he said. "I want to take 
 Peggy to San Gimignano, just for the day, in a car. 
 Could you come too?" 
 
 "Yes, I could," she said softly, and though his own 
 spirits rose to the thrill of pleasure in her answer he 
 heard a note of hesitation too. 
 
 'What is it?" he asked. 
 
 "I met Peggy with her governess and Mabel. She 
 rushed up to me in a commotion and said she was not 
 to be allowed to see me again. Mrs. Twistleton had told 
 her so at dinner." 
 
 "She did." 
 
 "But then . . . won't it give great umbrage if you take 
 us to San Gimignano for a whole day?" 
 
 "I can't help that," said Victor. "I'm going to do 
 it ... if you'll come." 
 
 "Won't it mean war?" 
 
 "Not of my making. If people make war on me I'll 
 fight." 
 
 "But what about Peggy?" 
 
 "I'll look after Peggy." 
 
 Daphne was silent, because she knew that he could 
 not look after Peggy and that it was useless to tell him 
 so. The very next day she saw an instance of the way 
 the child was treated when he was not there. She went 
 into Mosca's shop to buy some sweets she wanted for 
 her dinner-table, and from the shop she could see into 
 the tea-room where Mrs. Twistleton sat at a table with 
 Miss Busby and the children. She saw them, and they 
 saw her, she felt sure. Only Peggy could not see her 
 because she sat with her back to the shop. She seemed 
 to be crying, and in a moment Mrs. Twistleton's voice 
 speaking to the child reached Daphne clearly across the 
 quiet room, for no one else was in there at the 
 time. 
 
 "If you don't stop crying at once I'll send you straight
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 229 
 
 to bed when we get home," Rhoda said. How well 
 Daphne remembered her voice and hated it! 
 
 "I'm so thirsty," said Peggy, and now Daphne, by 
 taking a step forward, could see that the two women 
 were at tea and that Mabel had a glass of syrup and 
 water with ice in it before her : but her child had nothing. 
 
 "You disobeyed my orders last night," said Mrs. 
 Twistleton. "Whenever you do that you'll be punished. 
 If you were not as stupid as you are troublesome you 
 might know it by this time." 
 
 "Can I have some water?" said Peggy. 
 
 "When you get home. It won't hurt you to wait." 
 
 "What could I do ?" Daphne said to Victor that night 
 as they sat at dinner together. 
 
 "What did you do?" he asked. 
 
 "I went away," she said. "There was nothing else to 
 do since my child does not belong to me." 
 
 "They should never have come to Siena," said Victor. 
 "You would have been spared this sort of thing if Mrs. 
 Twistleton would have taken my advice. I wanted to 
 come here by myself, get hold of Peggy and take her 
 to them at Genoa. Then they could have gone to Porto- 
 fino or Viareggio for this hot weather and had bath- 
 ing." 
 
 Daphne did not speak for a little while. They were 
 nearly at the end of dinner and she was peeling a peach 
 for herself. After weeks of hotel meals Victor had 
 enjoyed every stage and circumstance of this one: the 
 quiet, cool room, the thin glass and old silver on the 
 table, and even the cooking that he chose to think un- 
 usually good. He was tired of hotels, he said to himself, 
 and tired of knocking about the world. But he did not 
 see his way yet to the next step. Here things were 
 getting rather difficult and he would be glad when the 
 time came to go away. But when he went he would 
 never see Daphne again unless he came back some day to
 
 230 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 bring her news of Peggy. She wore red to-night, deep, 
 clear red, woven through and through with threads of 
 gold. She looked like the Madonna he loved most in 
 the picture gallery: the fair-haired Madonna carrying 
 her child, but the lower part of her face was not as 
 narrow. The same painter had painted the saint he had 
 seen this afternoon in the bleak, bare church on the 
 headland : the fair-haired Santa Barbara carrying her ' 
 tower. Daphne was even more like her than like the 
 Madonna, and she was dressed like the saint to-night in 
 red and gold. He had escaped from the others this 
 afternoon and gone out by himself, and apparently Mrs. 
 Twistleton had taken the opportunity to bully Peggy. * 
 In his presence she had never yet dared to do it. Still, 
 the child could get water at home: and probably she 
 had been troublesome. He had never been able to make 
 up his mind that there was definite ill-treatment: bad 
 enough to make a rupture necessary: and yet he had 
 never felt easy. Besides, if he took the child from her 
 step-mother what was he to do with her except send 
 her to school? 
 
 "I'm glad Mrs. Twistleton didn't take your advice," 
 said Daphne, breaking in on his meditations. "Since 
 you control Peggy's destinies at present I am glad that 
 I have got to know you." 
 
 Victor's eyes had the twinkle in them that Peggy 
 looked for when he spoke sternly to her but was ready 
 to laugh the next moment. But though his glance was 
 humorous it was rueful too. He would have wished 
 Daphne to welcome him for his own sake, and not only 
 for Peggy's. However, considering the part he had to 
 play in her life he could hardly expect it. A week or 
 two ago she had refused to take his hand. 
 
 "The first time I saw you when I told you that Peggy 
 had been ill-treated you did not believe me," she went on. 
 
 "I believed you thought so," he amended. "I've never
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 231 
 
 seen actual ill-treatment myself. I know there is friction, 
 and perhaps at times harshness . . . but. . . ." 
 
 "Can't you send her to a good school where she would 
 be well taken care of?" 
 
 "I suppose I could; in fact, I've thought of it, but 
 isn't she rather young?" 
 
 "No. She would be better at school than where 
 she is." 
 
 "Then I'll think of it for the autumn." 
 
 "The autumn is a long way off." 
 
 Victor, who had just lighted a cigarette, watched the 
 smoke from it and did not speak : partly because Giuditta 
 came in with coffee and liqueurs and partly because he 
 had nothing to say. Daphne got up from table then 
 and they went out on the terrace, where the coffee-tray 
 had been set for them. She began to talk of other things, 
 and after a time she offered to play to him. He went 
 into the sitting-room with her and watched her as she 
 played, watched her slim, supple hands and her profile 
 as she listened to her own harmonies. She should have 
 been Santa Cecilia, he thought, but she was like Santa 
 Barbara with her tower. He saw no vein of coquetry 
 in her or of lightness. She was a simple, rather serious 
 woman who had had the high spirits of youth quenched 
 by the realities of life, and especially by the loss of her 
 child. She was probably one of those women to whom 
 the child is everything: more than any man. The fates 
 drove him to stand between her and her heart's desire 
 when it would have pleased him better to give her what 
 she wanted and see her happy again. However, it could 
 not be helped. 
 
 "He will go his own way and pay no attention to 
 what I tell him," Daphne thought to herself as she 
 played. "My first impression of him was the right one. 
 He is kind as long as you do not cross him, but directly 
 you do you come to hardness. He admits it himself.
 
 232 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 Besides, you see it in his face, especially when he is not 
 talking and laughing. I wonder if he is going to marry 
 Rhoda. It didn't sound like it yesterday when he talked 
 of San Gimignano. But one never knows." 
 
 "What are you thinking of?" said Victor, for it was 
 nearly dark in the room now and Daphne had left off 
 playing. They had sat silent for some time, and he 
 could still make out her figure at the piano and her face 
 turned towards him when he spoke. 
 
 "I was thinking of your marriage," she said, with the 
 audacity born of the intimate hour and of the darkness. 
 
 "Of my marriage!" 
 
 "Yes. If you married the wrong woman, Peggy " 
 
 Victor stopped her with an ejaculation that sounded 
 as if it would have been "Damn Peggy !" if it had been 
 articulate. 
 
 "Are you never going to think of me except in relation 
 to Peggy?" he asked.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 VICTOR had arranged the expedition to San Gimi- 
 gnano on the spur of the moment, and he had 
 ordered the car to be at the hotel at 9 o'clock, 
 but he had not said anything about it yet to Mrs. Twistle- 
 ton or Peggy. He had hardly seen Mrs. Twistleton 
 yesterday, except at lunch, when she had been in a silent 
 mood: so that the others, affected by her sullenness, 
 became silent too, and ate without speaking. The meal 
 had been somber and Victor was counting the days now 
 to his departure, for he had made up his mind to leave 
 Siena and bid Mrs. Twistleton good-by directly after 
 the Palio. The situation had become difficult and a 
 little ridiculous: and the only way to end it was to go. 
 He must break the news to Daphne somehow, and he 
 dreaded that. She would want him to hover near Peggy 
 indefinitely and protect her, but he could not do it. 
 Women were unreasonable. Peggy would come to no 
 harm for the next few months, and in the autumn he 
 would send her to a good school. She would be happier 
 at school than with her step-mother, who certainly dis- 
 liked her. Even now Victor did not believe that there 
 was anything serious to complain of : at least, he did 
 not believe it steadily, but he was not quite easy, and 
 if Miss Busby had been a different person he might 
 have confided in her and put her on guard. But Miss 
 Busby had a soft job and knew it. Besides, there was 
 no fight in her. She crumpled up at a look from Mrs. 
 Twistleton. She would be in a fluster this morning when 
 he proposed to take Peggy off for the day, and she would 
 cackle and argue. . . . Victor wanted to shake himself 
 
 233
 
 234 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 as a dog does when it comes out of the water : he wanted 
 to shake himself free of his present traveling companions. 
 
 Mrs. Twistleton always had her breakfast upstairs, 
 but when he went into the dining-room at half -past eight 
 Miss Busby and the children were there and were ap- 
 parently having an altercation. 
 
 "I am so glad you have come, Mr. Gerard," said Miss 
 Busby before he was across the room. "I can do noth- 
 ing with Peggy this morning, and Mabel, who is old 
 enough to know better, is nearly as bad. I wish you 
 would speak to them." 
 
 "I'll do more than speak to them if you want me to," 
 said Victor, summoning a waiter as he talked. "If you 
 
 like I'll get a thick stick I don't know why they are 
 
 laughing." 
 
 "It's that colonel of cavalry," fretted Miss Busby. 
 "Really, he and his family. . . ." 
 
 "Those people at the next table? I thought they 
 seemed pleasant. But they are not here now." 
 
 "They have only just gone. The colonel I know he 
 is a colonel because his friends address him as Colonello, 
 so I asked our waiter. If you can believe it, Mr. Gerard, 
 he is a colonel of cavalry." 
 
 "Why shouldn't I believe it?" said Victor. 
 
 "But, Mr. Gerard, have you noticed him shoveling 
 food into his mouth with his knife?" 
 
 "I have." 
 
 "If it was infantry! But cavalry! And this morn- 
 ing he buttered bread for the whole family with a tea- 
 spoon, and when it was buttered when it was buttered, 
 Mr. Gerard they all sopped the slices in their coffee, 
 and bit them: and Mabel and Peggy wanted to do the 
 same. I was just explaining to them that English people 
 should set an example at table: but they pay no atten- 
 tion to me. Hotel life has not a good effect on them: 
 and as for lessons here, they are a farce. We might
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 235 
 
 as well be out in the Lizza while it is cool, but Mrs. 
 Twistleton thinks it better. . . ." 
 
 "You won't mind my taking Peggy off for the day, 
 then ?" said Victor, breaking in when Miss Busby stopped 
 for breath. 
 
 "When?" asked Miss Busby. 
 
 "To-day. This moment. The car will be here at nine. 
 Peggy, go and get your hat." 
 
 "Are we going out in the car? Where to? Shall we 
 be back to lunch?" 
 
 "Don't ask questions. Do as you are told. Quick! 
 Off with you." 
 
 "Are you going to take Peggy and not me? Can't 
 I come too?" 
 
 "Not to-day. I'll take you both to-morrow." 
 
 "But does Mrs. Twistleton know?" 
 
 Miss Busby and the children all seemed to speak at 
 once. Peggy was full of joy. Mabel was nearly crying 
 and Miss Busby looked uncertain and alarmed. 
 
 "Perhaps I had better consult Mrs. Twistleton," she 
 suggested. 
 
 "By all means," said Victor, and got up. He was 
 in the hall with Peggy about ten minutes later when 
 Miss Busby appeared. 
 
 "Mrs. Twistleton says that Peggy is not to go," she 
 whispered. It was a distressing moment for her because 
 she was obliged to deliver the message and felt afraid 
 of its effect. However, Victor did not slay her on the 
 spot, or even show any anger. He just turned to Peggy. 
 
 "Go and get into the car," he said, and then he walked 
 straight upstairs and knocked at Mrs. Twistleton's door. 
 Miss Busby had followed him and heard Mrs. Twistleton 
 tell him to come in. She wondered what would happen. 
 Two such strong natures ! 
 
 The room was in semi-darkness becav ;e the jalousies 
 were shut, but Victor saw that Mrs. Twistleton was in
 
 236 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 an easy chair with her coffee-tray on a table beside her. 
 She looked up at him angrily when he went in, and 
 waited for him to speak. 
 
 "I am very sorry," he began, for he felt that he owed 
 her some apology. "I ought to have told you yesterday." 
 
 Still she did not speak, and when he grew more accus- 
 tomed to the light he saw that she was silent as the 
 air is before the storm bursts. Her face shocked him 
 when he saw it like this, without its usual mask of placid 
 self-control; just as once or twice certain tones in her 
 voice had shocked him by their unexpected savagery. 
 
 "Peggy is not to go," she said between her teeth. 
 
 "I'm sorry," he said again, "but I'm afraid she must. 
 I've made the engagement for her." 
 
 "With that woman?" 
 
 "With her mother, yes." 
 
 "It is insufferable. It is insulting to me, but I suppose 
 you are in that creature's power and cannot see it." 
 
 "I certainly don't see it," said Victor. "I daresay I 
 ought to have said something yesterday : but I only saw 
 you at lunch." 
 
 "If you take Peggy to-day I shall complain to my 
 husband's solicitors. I will not act with you any longer ; 
 you must resign the trust." 
 
 "I shall not do that." 
 
 "He would never have appointed you if he had known 
 what was going to happen." 
 
 "I must go," said Victor, and got out of the room as 
 best he could. Five days still to the Palio, in an atmos- 
 phere as sulphurous as this. He began to wonder 
 whether he could endure it and what would happen if 
 he went away, leaving Peggy behind. He could not take 
 her with him: at least, he would not. Even Daphne 
 could not expect that of him : but was there any limit 
 to what Daph ic would expect where Peggy was con- 
 cerned ?
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 237 
 
 "You've brought no wrap for her. It may be cold 
 as we come back," she said, the moment she saw them 
 this morning; and would have rushed upstairs herself if 
 Victor had not been too quick for her and barred the 
 way while she told him what to ask for. How charming 
 she looked, laughing and protesting, as he stood above 
 her on the staircase. She wore white to-day and car- 
 ried a scarlet cotton sunshade: one of those with a striped 
 edge that English people buy in Italy, but that no Italians 
 use. The shadow that usually clouded her face had 
 vanished, and he got an impression of what she would 
 look like if she was a happy woman instead of a be- 
 reaved one. He wished he knew a little more about 
 her past history: how she had come to marry Mr. 
 Twistleton and then to leave him. She must have been 
 a child at the time. She did not look more than twenty- 
 six or twenty-seven now: and after all, what did her 
 history matter when the windows of her soul were clear 
 and shining? She must lead a lonely life now and a 
 sad one. Yet she made it attractive. She was one of 
 those women who would turn a cave into a home and 
 give it a character and an atmosphere: but she must 
 feel that her empty home was a mockery. He liked to 
 see her and Peggy together : and after to-day there could 
 not be much more of it. She should enjoy to-day and 
 so would he. 
 
 "I wish we were always together," said Peggy, just 
 before they reached Colle. "I like being all alone with 
 you, Mummy, but when Mr. Gerard is with us we do 
 more exciting things. Miss Busby says that we are going 
 to a place called Vallombrosa after the Palio and that 
 it is full of dead leaves and will not agree with her. Are 
 you coming there with us, Mr. Gerard? I hope you 
 are." 
 
 "I don't know," said Victor, who wanted to choose 
 his own time for telling Daphne that he meant to return
 
 238 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 to England: but he saw by her sudden glance at him 
 that she had taken fright. She said nothing just then, 
 but the idea of his departure had entered her mind and 
 troubled it: so that her day was not as care-free as he 
 wished. He knew that whenever she was silent she was 
 thinking of the future and of what would happen to 
 her child when he was gone. 
 
 Presently in front of them they saw San Gimignano 
 set on its hill, its tall, square-built towers rising from its 
 ancient houses and standing out against the cloudless blue 
 of the sky. Night was the time to see the place, Daphne 
 told Victor: a warm Italian night when every archway 
 and courtyard, every by-street and balcony were in deep 
 shadow or shown to you in the white, mysterious light 
 of the moon, when the owls cried from tower to tower 
 and when the clocks tolling the hours called to mind 
 nights long ago when they had tolled away the lives 
 of men doomed to die at dawn. She told him the story 
 of the two young brothers done to death in front of 
 their own house on the Piazza and afterwards terribly 
 avenged: and she told him about Santa Fina, who lay 
 on a plank and rotted till she died. And she told Peggy 
 about St. Augustine and Gozzoli's picture of the child 
 who had been spanked by the schoolmaster. 
 
 "We will go and see that first," said Peggy. "I don't 
 want to see the other things. I'm tired of cathe- 
 drals." 
 
 But they did not go there until late in the afternoon, 
 and by that time they had done a good deal and were 
 tired. However, Peggy's interest revived when she saw 
 this record of an episode that roused her sympathies, and 
 she studied it with attention. 
 
 "When she whips me she puts me on the bed," she 
 said. 
 
 Daphne shuddered and turned away. 
 
 "Come for a little walk on the ramparts," she said
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 239 
 
 to Victor. "There are lovely views, and we can sit in 
 the shade." 
 
 "You seem to know the place well," he said jealously. 
 
 "I've only been once before, years ago. We came from 
 Florence and stayed a week." 
 
 "You and Major Coverdale?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 They walked on together in silence, ghosts between 
 them. But before long they found a place where they 
 sat down, while Peggy, seeing a slope bright with field 
 flowers, ran a little way off to gather them. 
 
 "You are not doing your duty," said Daphne, with 
 a little catch in her breath that told Victor she was half 
 afraid to speak but yet felt that she must. He had 
 been studying the pure lines of her profile and wishing 
 he might tuck away a delicate tendril of her hair that 
 the breeze blew here and there inconveniently. She tried 
 to do it herself once or twice, but it evaded her, perhaps 
 because her thoughts were on other things. 
 
 "You have the power. You ought to use it," she went 
 on. "You ought to make it impossible for Peggy to be 
 badly treated. The idea of that woman whipping her 
 drives me crazy. I would take her away again and hide 
 if I could go where you would never find us." 
 
 "Would you ?" said Victor. 
 
 "Yes," she said, startled by the depths in his voice. 
 "I would." 
 
 "Wherever you went I should find you. I should 
 want to find you." 
 
 "To get hold of the child again?" 
 
 "To see you." The color came into her face at his 
 tone, but she held out her arms to Peggy, who came 
 running towards them with a bunch of poppies that she 
 insisted on fastening in her mother's dress. 
 
 "You must stay with us now and get cool before the 
 drive home," said Daphne, and let the child wriggle into
 
 240 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 a place between Victor and herself and arrange her 
 flowers there: so the intimate moment ended and did 
 not come again that day. But she asked him, as they 
 sat there, whether he was going to Vallombrosa. 
 
 "No, I'm not," he said. "I'm going back to England 
 directly after the Palio." 
 
 "Need you go?" 
 
 "I'm going. I'm tired of this life. I want to get 
 to work again." 
 
 "What is your work?" 
 
 "I was in business in Australia. I may go there again. 
 I had a letter the other day from my late partner sug- 
 gesting that I should." 
 
 "In that case, of course, you would resign your trust ?" 
 
 Victor laughed, but not mirthfully : got up and offered 
 Daphne his hand to help her up, for they had been sitting 
 on the ground. 
 
 "We ought to be going," he said. "I seem to be a 
 success as a guardian and trustee. I've been asked twice 
 in one day to resign the job." 
 
 "I don't want to go home yet," said Peggy. "Why 
 can't we stay here all night, and to-morrow too, and 
 to-morrow night ? Why do things always end when they 
 are nice and last when they are horrid? What is going 
 to happen to me when you go to England, Mr. Gerard? 
 Can I go back to Mummy? I hope I sha'n't have to 
 go to Vallombrosa with them. It is not as bad in a 
 hotel as it used to be at Beda Close, but I'm very miser- 
 able when you are not there. Yesterday dinner, was 
 like Beda Close. You feel as if a black cloth was on 
 the table and it makes you black inside. I was sent 
 upstairs because I ate my beans with a knife, but I was 
 only trying to imitate the colonello and make Mabel 
 laugh. I hope you'll be there to-night. If you are not 
 I shall go to bed and hide. There is sure to be a row." 
 
 "Why?" asked Daphne. Victor had turned silent and
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 241 
 
 rather gloomy, so that she was glad of the child's chatter 
 at the moment. 
 
 "Because I was forbidden to come to-day," said Peggy. 
 
 "Then how is it that you did come?" 
 
 "I don't know. I suppose Mr. Gerard does. He told 
 me to get into the car and we came. Did you persuade 
 her to change her mind, Mr. Gerard, or did we just 
 come ?" 
 
 "We just came," said Victor. 
 
 "Then there will be a row," said Peggy.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 FGGY proved mistaken. There was no row that 
 light or next day. Mrs. Twistleton seemed to 
 accept her defeat with indifference and to pass from 
 a condition of thunderous ill-humor to one of smiles. 
 She asked no questions about their day at San Gimi- 
 gnano, but talked of what she had done herself in Siena. 
 The city was in a turmoil, she said, and to escape from 
 it she had driven out to Belcaro and spent the afternoon 
 there with Miss Busby and Mabel. 
 
 "You ought to go there," she said to Victor. "The 
 view from the castle is magnificent, and the drive isn't 
 bad." 
 
 Victor was surprised and relieved. He hated scenes, 
 and though he thought Mrs. Twistleton was in the wrong 
 she had made him uncomfortable. Until lately he 
 had considered her an astute woman and one who had 
 her passions in control ; but this morning, and again the 
 other night, he had had glimpses of under-cur rents 
 from which he desired to turn his eyes. The position 
 was difficult, no doubt : difficult for them all. She should 
 never have come to Siena: and he, quite unexpectedly, 
 had drifted into terms of friendship with Daphne. His 
 thoughts were full of Daphne to-night and of their long 
 day together. Now she sat at table alone and her child 
 was here in the hotel with him. If he could escape 
 after dinner he would stroll round and see how she was 
 getting on. She no longer received him glacially as she 
 had done at first. In fact, once or twice, lately she had 
 seemed glad to see him for his own sake, and this after- 
 
 242
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 243 
 
 noon when he had said he would find her wherever she 
 went the color had come into her face like a flush of 
 light, and it had been because of her commotion that 
 she had held out her hands to Peggy. He felt sure 
 of that, and he wanted to see her so transfigured again. 
 Meanwhile the memory remained with him like an agree- 
 able glow. 
 
 While he dreamed, the children were both wide awake 
 and hammering at him about his promise to take them 
 out next day, so that he was obliged before long to 
 answer them and ask them where they wanted to go : 
 and he had to confess that he had not ordered the car 
 again. He reminded them that there would be trial races 
 on the Campo every day till Friday and that they must 
 all be there to see them, and that therefore they could 
 not be elsewhere. 
 
 "But you promised," said Mabel. 
 
 "Yes, you did," said Peggy. "You said you would 
 take us both out to-morrow. We can go after lunch and 
 come back in time for the evening race." 
 
 "I thought you all went to sleep in the afternoon," 
 said Victor, but he turned to Mrs. Twistleton and asked 
 her whether she would go to Lecceto next day if he sent 
 an order for the car. He proposed that they should start 
 in the cool of the morning and take lunch with them, 
 and come back in time for the first trial race at night. 
 He had been told that the one next morning was not 
 important and that the stand on which they had taken 
 seats would hardly be ready. Mrs. Twistleton said that 
 she would be glad to be out of the noise and dust of 
 Siena all day, and that on some other afternoon this 
 week they would drive to Belcaro again if Victor would 
 go with them. He said he would with pleasure, and 
 got up from dinner with a comfortable sense of wheels 
 running smoothly again. He did not know what had 
 oiled them, but that did not matter since they were oiled.
 
 244 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 The only person who now seemed discontented was Miss 
 Busby. She said that the week's programme was heavy 
 and that too much pleasure was worse for children than 
 too little. She expected both Mabel and Peggy would 
 be made ill by fatigue and excitement, and she was quite 
 sure that she would be ill herself. She did not make 
 these remarks to Mrs. Twistleton, but in a grumbling 
 undertone to Victor, who hardly knew what to do with 
 her confidences. As soon as he decently could he escaped 
 from them: but he did not escape so easily from Mrs. 
 Twistleton. It had become a habit to have coffee in 
 the lounge with her, and on most nights a stroll through 
 the town or in the Lizza after coffee. Sometimes she 
 did not want a stroll, and then he got away by himself. 
 But to-night she proposed that they should see what was 
 being done on the Campo in preparation for the 
 Palio. 
 
 "There will be nothing there, but some half -erected 
 wooden stands," said Victor, who was on edge to see 
 Daphne again, if only for a moment. Mrs. Twistleton 
 had taken great pains with herself and looked her best 
 to-night: but he had no eyes for her. No doubt she 
 was still a handsome woman, and she knew how to move 
 and dress: what jewels to wear and just what kind of 
 quietly splendid wrap to put in his hands when he stood 
 there politely ready to cover her shoulders with it. But 
 she had no charm for him : as the other woman had. 
 Her eyes had meanings in them, but not meanings he 
 Had tried to call there or wished to read. He found 
 himself turning his own away and more than once ending 
 some moment of intimate silence by everyday talk in 
 which there was safety. He could not believe in what 
 his eyes saw and his ears heard: and yet the thing was 
 being made plainer to him every moment. If he chose 
 he could gather and keep. The fruit was his for the 
 asking and one many men would envy him. But he
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 245 
 
 did not want it : and he would have to say so in deeds 
 if not in words. He hoped it would be enough to go 
 away. 
 
 As he had said, there was nothing to be seen on the 
 Campo but the wooden stands put up twice every year 
 for the Palio : and there were not many people about at 
 this hour. However, Mrs. Twistleton seemed inclined 
 to linger there, and though Victor was on thorns the 
 beauty of the scene called to him. In this evening light 
 the slender Mangia Tower seemed to touch the cloudless 
 sky where the moon, nearly full, was slowly climbing, 
 her bright light thrown on the fountain and the splen- 
 did palaces at the upper side of the Piazza, leaving dense 
 masses of shade under the Palazzo Pubblico at its lower 
 end. The stands that ringed the racecourse were dwarfed 
 by the huge buildings : and the great shell-shaped central 
 space that would hold a roaring crowd on Friday was 
 empty now ; except for a few groups of children playing 
 round the fountain and their mothers chatting and sing- 
 ing near them. 
 
 "We might find a seat," said Mrs. Twistleton, and 
 Victor, fuming and fretting, had to follow her to one 
 of the stands. There they sat down for a while and 
 found nothing much to say. It was Mrs. Twistleton 
 this time who broke the silence. 
 
 "I'm getting tired of Miss Busby and her everlasting 
 complaints," she said. 
 
 "So am I," said Victor, and lighted a cigarette. Mrs. 
 Twistleton seemed to him soaked in scent, and he liked 
 the smell of tobacco better. She was so close to him 
 now that if she moved slightly she touched him, and in 
 the white light of the moon he thought her face looked 
 unnaturally white and red, as if it owed its tints to 
 cosmetics. No doubt she did make up, but as a rule 
 she made up well. To-night, either she had overdone 
 it, or the moon was unkind : he neither knew nor cared
 
 246 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 which. All he prayed for at the moment was a chance 
 to get away. 
 
 "Well, you won't be troubled with her much longer 
 if you really mean to go back to England," said Mrs. 
 Twistleton. 
 
 "I am not satisfied with her as a governess for Peggy," 
 said Victor. "She is silly and incompetent." 
 
 "I suppose Mrs. Coverdale has been talking to you?" 
 
 "Need we bring her in?" 
 
 "We shall spend the winter in Rome or Florence," 
 continued Mrs. Twistleton. "I shall be able to get some- 
 one better there, I hope." 
 
 "I want Peggy to go to school," said Victor. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "I want Peggy to go to a good school in England." 
 
 "When?" 
 
 "The sooner the better." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "She is not being well educated." 
 
 He had not meant to say this to-night. He had not 
 meant to announce his intentions with regard to Peggy 
 in this hurried, rather brutal way. But it was done now 
 and could not be undone. There would be a storm, no 
 doubt, and he must weather it. He wondered why it 
 did not break on his head at once: but Mrs. Twistleton 
 only said in dulcet tones: 
 
 "Most schools are closed now till the autumn." 
 
 "I know," said Victor. 
 
 "We must talk it over. It might be a good plan to 
 send them both to the same school, when autumn comes. 
 We must get through the summer first. Can't you come 
 to Vallombrosa? You would have your eye on Peggy 
 then, and you seem anxious about her." 
 
 "I'm not anxious about her at present," said Victor. 
 "I was last autumn. I thought she would slip through 
 our fingers."
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 247 
 
 "I suppose you mean to leave her with me for the 
 summer. Or do you want to take her to England at 
 once ?" 
 
 "It might be better," said Victor, making up his mind 
 there and then to do what an hour ago he had not meant 
 to do. In coming to such a decision he was not thinking 
 as much of the woman beside him, or even of Peggy, 
 as of Peggy's mother and what she would look like when 
 he told her. He felt eager to tell her and to consult 
 with her about the journey and the school to be chosen. 
 As for the intervening holidays, he would ask his sister 
 to have the child for once with her own children, and 
 if that could not be arranged he would send Peggy to 
 the seaside with someone more capable than Miss Busby 
 to look after her. 
 
 "I suppose I offended you this morning," said the 
 woman beside him, and he thought she edged a little 
 closer to him: but perhaps it was his fancy. "I confess 
 I lost my temper for the moment, but you have not made 
 it easy for me here, have you?" 
 
 "I'm sorry," said Victor, politely. 
 
 "Until we came here we got on so well together. I 
 wish I had taken your advice and gone to Portofino. 
 You would have brought Peggy there and all would have 
 been well." 
 
 "I hope that all is well now," said Victor. "If I do 
 take Peggy back with me it can only be a relief to you. 
 She gives a good deal of trouble." 
 
 Mrs. Twistleton had a fan in her hands, one she had 
 used at dinner and usually carried about with her in 
 Siena. It was a slender one made of tortoiseshell and 
 lace, and as the night was breathless she had opened it 
 several times and fanned herself. But now in the white 
 light of the moon Victor saw that it was shut and that 
 both her hands were closed on it. He was sure as he 
 looked at her that she did not know what she was doing.
 
 248 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 He had twice before seen that silent, blinding rage on 
 her face; once when Dingo killed her cat and again when 
 she heard that Peggy was to have most of her father's 
 money; but on those occasiones she had controlled her- 
 self. He hoped she would now. She would break the 
 fan in a moment if she did not release her hold on it. 
 He knew by watching her hands how furious she was. 
 There was no need to watch her face. It was a hot, 
 uncomfortable moment, and he wished he had not 
 brought it on himself. There! the fan snapped in two, 
 and she seemed hardly to know what she had done, but 
 turned to him and spoke. 
 
 "Do you realize that it is a slur on me if you take 
 Peggy away suddenly like that?" she asked. 
 
 "It may be a slur on Miss Busby, but I think she 
 deserves it," said Victor. "Besides, if you like we can 
 say that the climate didn't suit Peggy and that you sent 
 her home. Things can usually be arranged pleasantly 
 if people are sensible." 
 
 "You have quite made up your mind then ... to 
 put this . . . this insult on me ? And you are quite sure, 
 I suppose, that you are not exceeding your powers?" 
 
 "I've not made up my mind about anything except 
 that Peggy must have a better education than you are 
 giving her at present," said Victor with some impatience. 
 "I thought you would be glad to get rid of her." 
 
 "Why should you think so?" 
 
 "Well, you don't exactly hit it off together, do you?" 
 
 Mrs. Twistleton sighed and looked at her broken fan. 
 
 "I wish you would give up this idea," she said. 
 
 "What idea?" 
 
 "This idea of taking Peggy back to England in such 
 a hurry. Come to Vallombrosa with us on Saturday. 
 We are going by car and there will be plenty of room 
 for you. I believe it is a beautiful place. We can talk 
 things over quietly there, and if you really wish it I
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 249 
 
 will dismiss Miss Busby and send to England for a 
 first-rate finishing governess. My maid would have to 
 look after their clothes, or we might engage one for the 
 two children." 
 
 "I'll think it over about Peggy: but I'm going back 
 to England," said Victor. 
 
 It was rejection. He knew it and so did she. The 
 momentary silence that followed was as horrible as the 
 moment before a catastrophe thajt you see approaching 
 and cannot hinder. Victor felt as miserable as the 
 bravest of men feels on such painful occasions. There 
 was not a' rag of bravery in him. He would gladly have 
 crawled under the seat or run away in order to remove 
 himself from the woman he did not want and who 
 perversely seemed to want him. He could not think 
 why. He was thankful when she rose from her seat, 
 letting the broken fan drop unheeded to the ground as 
 she did SOL He dived for the two halves of it and 
 presented them to her ; but she did not take them. 
 
 "You can throw it away," she said, and walked back 
 to the hotel without speaking again. 
 
 When he had seen her there he sped like the wind to 
 Daphne's flat for he feared that he was over-late for a 
 call. No light showed behind the heavy old doors, mar- 
 velously carved and having elaborate knockers wrought 
 in iron seven hundred'years ago ; but he rang, and Daphne 
 herself opened to him. 
 
 "You !" she said, taking alarm at once. "Is anything 
 wrong? Peggy. . . ." 
 
 "Peggy went to bed hours ago, I hope," he said, going 
 into the lighted hall. "I know I'm late. . . ." 
 
 "It is past eleven." 
 
 "Can't I come in for five minutes?" 
 
 Daphne led the way to her sitting-room and turned on 
 the light. 
 
 "I was just going to bed," she said.
 
 250 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 "I wanted to see you," said he, and looked round the 
 room and through the window at the garden. He saw 
 the oleander with the moonlight on it and the little ter- 
 race with its wicker chairs. 
 
 "What have you been doing all the evening?" he asked. 
 He felt restless and harassed; and to come here even 
 for a moment was to come to a happy haven. He sat 
 down in the chair he usually chose in this room and 
 looked up at Daphne's face. 
 
 "Andrea came and we had music," she said. 
 
 "I have never heard you call him Andrea before." 
 
 "I do, lately. He has been a very good friend to me." 
 
 "I should like to be your friend," said Victor. 
 
 He looked at her eagerly and saw the wistful smile 
 that sometimes shadowed the sweetness of her eyes and 
 made a man want to take her in his arms and tell her 
 he would get her the moon if she wanted it. 
 
 "You would like to be my friend but you are obliged 
 to be my enemy," she said. "There is only one thing 
 in the world that I want, and it is you who will not or 
 cannot let me have it." 
 
 "Is there only one thing in the world that you want?" 
 said Victor, with a chilly feeling about his heart that 
 was new to him. 
 
 "You know it," she said, and sighed ; and then she 
 unmistakably looked at the clock. So Victor got up to 
 go and said nothing that night of his new plan for Peggy. 
 It had not matured yet, and now that he was with Daphne 
 he did not feel as sure as he had done an hour ago 
 of her pleasure in it. She might approve, but he could 
 hardly expect her to feel overjoyed. What a tangle 
 affairs were in, and how they seemed to revolve round 
 the small, unconscious person of Peggy, who was ten ! 
 
 "^VVhat is that in your hand?" said Daphne as he stood 
 up, and he became aware that he still carried the broken 
 fan.
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 251 
 
 "It's a fan," he said, and showed her the pieces. "Mrs. 
 Twistleton broke it." 
 
 He could tell by the way Daphne stood with her arms 
 straight down by her sides that nothing would have in- 
 duced her to touch it. 
 
 "Peggy said there would be a row when you got back," 
 she ventured. "I hope Peggy. . . ." 
 
 "It was I who faced the music . . . not Peggy," said 
 Victor. 
 
 "Oh! I'm glad of that." 
 
 "You don't mind things being uncomfortable for me?" 
 
 "Not in the least." 
 
 "Thank you." 
 
 "You're not a fan." 
 
 They had arrived at the door of the flat again, and 
 Daphne had opened it because Victor seemed to be in 
 no hurry to do so. 
 
 "Or a child," she added. "Good-night."
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 EVERY evening that week Victor, with Miss Busby 
 and the children, went to see the trial races on the 
 Campo, for the seats they had taken for the day 
 of the Palio itself were theirs for the three days before 
 when the horses and jockeys running had rehearsals 
 night and morning on the sanded course. Mrs. Twistle- 
 ton went on Tuesday evening when they came back 
 from Lecceto, but she did not go next day. She was 
 in one of her brooding humors, unapproachable and 
 silent. The long expedition to Lecceto had been oppres- 
 sive in consequence for Miss Busby, and the children 
 had hardly dared to speak, and when they were out of 
 the car kept to themselves as much as possible. Victor 
 thought that he had never known a week pass so slowly 
 in his life; but as the Palio would take place on Friday 
 and he had got to Tuesday night he could not make up 
 his mind to a sudden stampede. Besides, he wanted to 
 see Daphne again and possibly stay on in Siena for a 
 few days after Mrs. Twistleton left for Vallombrosa. 
 That idea grew rosy in his thoughts as he envisaged it: 
 more and more rosy, BO that his fancy dwelt on the 
 hours he would pass in Daphne's company with Peggy 
 between them, drawing them together. He had not said 
 a word to Peggy yet of his new plan for her and he had 
 not spoken of it again to Mrs. Twistleton. 
 
 The seats taken for the Palio were on a wooden stand 
 erected in front of a crockery-shop on the ground floor, 
 and were close to the umpires' balcony and to the point 
 at which the races began and ended. Each seat had a 
 little chair of its own, but they were not roomy, and 
 
 252
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 253 
 
 Miss Busby said that the want of space gave her cramp. 
 She came on Tuesday and on Wednesday evening be- 
 cause she had to accompany the children, but although 
 she brought her crochet with her and kept her eyes on 
 it she did not enjoy herself. "There is such a crowd," 
 she said plaintively, "and in these days crowds alarm 
 me. They might begin throwing bombs at us because 
 we are well dressed. One never knows. Besides, the 
 noise makes my head ache. I never heard such a noise. 
 I cannot think why they are so excited. Peggy, if you 
 can't sit still you had better go home. You jogged my 
 elbow then and made me split my wool. Mabel, you 
 are not going to buy those nasty pumpkin-seeds, are you ? 
 No, thank you. I should not care to be seen eating 
 them in public like a monkey at the Zoological Gardens. 
 The Italians seem to be easily pleased, poor things! A 
 race round a square on cart-horses and pumpkin-seeds 
 for their refreshment : and penny ices. No, Mabel and 
 Peggy, you cannot stand at that cart and lick penny 
 ices out of wafer cups. I'm sure that Mrs. Twistleton 
 would not approve of it. Will the horses be much longer, 
 Mr. Gerard? The children are getting so fidgety." 
 
 "We are not fidgety," said Peggy. "We are enjoy- 
 ing ourselves, but I should like to walk right round the 
 course in the crowd, and buy all the funny things that 
 people are selling. Can I go, Mr. Gerard?" 
 
 "I'll come too," said Mabel. 
 
 "Sit still," said Victor. "They are clearing the course. 
 Watch them. When it is clear the horses will come, 
 and directly the race is over we must go home." 
 
 It seemed to the children that the course never could 
 be clear. It was so densely packed with people. But 
 they saw it slowly and inexorably emptied by the soldiers 
 and carabinieri, who came on step by step, sweeping 
 everyone before them. Most people squeezed into the 
 center, and some went to their seats on the stands: and
 
 254 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 in about a quarter of an hour the horses and their jockeys 
 issued from the Palazzo Pubblico and took their places 
 behind the rope stretched across 'the course just in front 
 of Peggy's eyes. When the rope was let down they were 
 off like the wind. Peggy followed them intently. She 
 knew that there were seventeen wards or parishes in 
 Siena, each having its own emblem and its own tradi- 
 tional friendships and hostilities. Uncle Andrea had 
 explained this to her and had told her that he lived in 
 the parish of the Oca, or Goose, where St. Catherine 
 had lived more than six hundred years ago, and that 
 therefore he wanted the Oca to win; so when other 
 people near Peggy shouted for the Onda, which is 
 "wave," or for the Istrice, which is "porcupine," she 
 got on her feet and shouted "Oca!" so shrilly that every- 
 one near smiled at her, and some said she was carina: 
 for the Italian does not live who will not smile at a 
 child and be kind to it. But Miss Busby put away 
 her crochet and said that Peggy had made an exhibition 
 of herself, and that if she could not behave she had 
 better stay at home to-morrow. 
 
 "Everyone else shouts," argued Peggy. But Miss 
 Busby said that she did not, and that it was silly to be 
 excited by a foreign event that could not possibly concern 
 you, and that she did not think Mrs. Twistleton would 
 wish Peggy to talk of that queer-looking musician as 
 her uncle. The governess and the children wrangled 
 all the way home as they struggled through the crowds 
 in the Via Cavour, for Victor, who usually stopped 
 wrangling, had disappeared. He had had a long day 
 of it, and the day was not over yet. He wished Daphne 
 would ask him to dine with her that evening and give 
 him peace: but when he called there he found that she 
 was just going out. A carriage was waiting for her 
 below, and Giuditta told him that the Signora was in- 
 vited to a villa outside the city beyond the Camellia
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 255 
 
 Gate, and that to-morrow she had friends to dinner her- 
 self, and that on Thursday she would dine out again. 
 It was the "Palio," said Giuditta. During the week of 
 the Palio many strangers came to the city and there was 
 much movement and gayety. Next week all would be 
 as usual again. She spoke in the clear, slow Italian 
 she kept for English people who did not know much, and 
 she used short simple phrases that even Victor could 
 more or less understand. Besides, her hands told him 
 more than her lips. Out to-night, out on Thursday, and 
 to-morrow. Molti invitati. The Palio. Always the 
 Palio. Capita! 
 
 Victor did not feel ruffled. It was natural that Daphne 
 should have her own friends and engagements: most 
 natural, considering who and what she was. All men 
 must adore her, but hitherto he had seen her sequestered 
 from the world and had found her in her home when 
 he went there. The three evenings in front of him 
 stretched long and empty since they were to be without 
 her: and it chilled him unreasonably to find that she 
 was giving a dinner to which she had not asked him. 
 Perhaps her guests were to be Italians ; and perhaps 
 there would be Italian men there of a different type 
 from the poor, elderly, deformed musician. Italians 
 frequently married English and American women, but 
 he did not know how such marriages turned out. Victor 
 was not in favor of them. He was not in favor of 
 expatriation at all. But he did not count it expatriation 
 to be in a British colony or a British possession. Women, 
 and especially young, lovely, lonely women, should live 
 amongst their own people and under the protection of 
 their own men. His ideas were behind the times, he 
 supposed: these upside-down times, when women had 
 the vote and were going to do no one knew what 
 with it. 
 
 But the elemental differences between men and women
 
 256 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 were stronger than fashions and politics, and would 
 remain. 
 
 Daphne was a woman with every breath of her beau- 
 tiful body and soul: a woman to be enshrined and wor- 
 shiped, helped and loved. She would give more than 
 she would ever receive because she was her exquisite 
 self ; but yet she needed a man to perform such services 
 for her as a man can offer the woman he loves and makes 
 his wife. The wonder was that she had not married 
 again long since. In Rome, at any rate, she must have 
 had chances. 
 
 The heat had been intense all day, and after dinner 
 Victor got away by himself for a stroll in the Lizza. 
 He went to his usual point of view and looked at Siena 
 with her evening lights glowing like stars in the streets 
 and windows. But to-night he did not hear Daphne's 
 voice there. Strangers were leaning over the low wall 
 to look at the site of some new houses about to be built 
 for the city, and amongst them Victor saw the small 
 deformed figure of the violinist, Daphne's friend. He 
 was not the rose, but perhaps he had been near the rose 
 that day and could give him the latest news of her. 
 Victor went up to Sarzoni and bid him good-evening. 
 
 The Italian was polite, but not cordial. He had only 
 one wish with regard to Victor, and it was that the 
 Englishman should leave Siena never to return. His 
 coming had destroyed Andrea's plans completely, and 
 had made his quest vain. To be sure, Daphne had had 
 her child for a few weeks, but that only made the 
 separation ordered and imposed by this man worse for 
 her to bear. He must be a man without either heart 
 or understanding, otherwise the sight of Daphne's sor- 
 row would have stirred him to compassion and he would 
 have arranged somehow to leave the child with her. But 
 he had done nothing of the kind. Never would Andrea 
 forget the night when he had found Daphne bereft and
 
 LAW AND OUTUAW 257 
 
 disconsolate. As well as she could she had told him 
 what had passed on both occasions when the Englishman 
 had been in the house: first to announce his intentions 
 and then to carry Peggy away with him: and Andrea 
 got an impression of a man as hard as stone, without 
 sympathy and rigid in his obedience to the law. With 
 the law behind him he was going to exact obedience 
 from Daphne even if it broke her. 
 
 Victor, who did not think much about the Italian's 
 point of view, spoke to him pleasantly because he was 
 Daphne's friend: but found it difficult to bring in her 
 name. It was easier to talk of the Palio and the sights 
 of Siena and to ask Andrea what he thought of the 
 weather. 
 
 "I think that to-night or to-morrow there will be a 
 storm," said Andrea, and Victor said he thought so too, 
 since the air was oppressive and the clouds over the hills 
 were black and threatening. 
 
 "To-morrow we are all going to Belcaro," he added. 
 "I have not seen it yet." 
 
 "When do you leave Siena?" asked Andrea. 
 
 "Soon after the Palio," said Victor. "We shall all 
 clear out then, but in different directions." 
 
 Andrea only half understood the second part of 
 Victor's answer, but the first part afforded him satisfac- 
 tion. He lifted his hat and bid him good-evening. 
 
 "A rividerla," he said. "Perhaps we shall meet again 
 to-morrow at Belcaro. I too am going there in the after- 
 noon." 
 
 "Is Mrs. Coverdale going?" said Victor impulsively. 
 
 "No," said the Italian. "I am taking friends there 
 from Bologna who do not know it. Mrs. Coverdale 
 knows it well." 
 
 So next day, when the party from the Royal in two 
 carriages passed one in which Victor saw Sarzoni and 
 his friends, he was not disappointed to find strangers
 
 258 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 with the Italian. He himself was with Mrs. Twistleton 
 and Mabel, while Miss Busby and Peggy in another 
 carriage to the rear got all their dust and wished it 
 would rain. Victor had not wanted to carry out the 
 expedition, for the skies were ominous and thunder was 
 growling in the distance when they started ; but the 
 children implored him to go, the carriages were ordered, 
 and the drivers assured him in fluent Tuscan that it 
 would not rain till night. So they drove out of the city 
 by the Porta S. Marco, coming in time to English-look- 
 ing lanes and English wild flowers that the children 
 would have liked to gather. But in one carriage Victor 
 said that they had better get under cover before the 
 storm broke; and in the other Miss Busby told Peggy 
 that she did not like the look of their driver, who kept 
 turning round and pointing at the landscape with his 
 whip while he jabbered like a monkey in a language 
 she could not understand. Nothing would induce her 
 to stay behind with him in one of these lonely lanes and 
 moreover, if she wanted to stop she would not know what 
 to say to him. The only Italian word that came to her 
 lips when flustered was avanti, and that seemed to have 
 the effect of driving him on. If he was a robber. . . . 
 
 "He is no more a robber than you are," said Peggy 
 contemptuously. "He is old Settinio, and he has a wife 
 and four children, and his bambino has been ill. He 
 knows me quite well. Haven't you seen him take off 
 his hat to me? He used to take Mummy and me for 
 drives, and Mummy sent his bambino things to eat. And 
 when you want to say 'stop' in Italian you say 'Ferma! 
 Ferma!' " 
 
 The carriage stopped instantly, for Peggy had spoken 
 in a clear, shrill voice ; and before Miss Busby could 
 prevent it she was at the hedge getting the clematis 
 and honeysuckle that she wanted. In consequence of 
 this reprehensible behavior the second carriage arrived
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 259 
 
 at Belcaro nearly ten minutes after the first and at the 
 same time as Andrea and his friends. It was upsetting 
 for Miss Busby, because she did not know Andrea and 
 thought him a suspicious-looking object for Peggy to 
 know. She stood aside while the child ran up to him 
 and scolded her when she returned ; but her thoughts 
 were diverted from Peggy's delinquencies by a clap of 
 thunder that took all her nerve away. She was terrified 
 by a storm in England, but what was a storm in England 
 compared with one in this country, where the climate 
 was what she could only call exaggerated ? Probably the 
 lightning would soon be exaggerated too, and strike them 
 where they stood. Her one idea was to find shelter, 
 and calling to Peggy to follow her she fled across a 
 courtyard to an open door and hid, trembling, in a loggia 
 decorated with frescoes, for the next half hour. Even 
 when the Italian and his friends came in to look at 
 the frescoes she did not move ; for the storm came on 
 in earnest now and she could hear the pelting rain. Peggy 
 had not followed her, but doubtless she had found some 
 shelter. She seemed to have friends at every corner, and 
 she had learned more Italian in a month than she had 
 learned French at home in years. But she was a trouble- 
 some child, always doing what she should not do and 
 arriving when she should not arrive. If she found the 
 others, and was by herself, Miss Busby would be blamed, 
 which would not be fair. The storm was over at last 
 and had apparently not struck the castle or anyone in 
 it, although it had certainly been appalling. Miss Busby 
 thought she might venture across the courtyard now and 
 try to rejoin the party. It was only natural that the 
 sudden downpour should have scattered them for the 
 moment, and if anything was said to her she would 
 try to carry it off in a jocular way. What she did not 
 expect was to run into Mr. Gerard just outside the door 
 and to see at a glance that he was not pleased.
 
 26o LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 "Where is Peggy?" he said. 
 
 "Hasn't she been with you?" said Miss Busby in a 
 tone of surprise. 
 
 "We have not seen her. Where did you see her last ?" 
 
 "We arrived together, of course, in the carriage. We 
 were a little late because, although I told Peggy we 
 could not stop, she spoke to the driver in Italian and told 
 him to stop ; and then she got out and gathered flowers. 
 We arrived at the same time as that carriage full of 
 Italians and she spoke to the deformed one. Perhaps 
 you noticed him." 
 
 "Did you leave her with them?" 
 
 "No, I did not. I scolded her for taking any notice of 
 them." 
 
 "She was quite right to take notice of Signer Sarzoni. 
 He is her mother's friend and brought her to Italy." 
 
 "Oh, is he the person who kidnapped her? How 
 interesting! I wish I had known. I had heard him 
 described, but it never occurred to me somehow. . . ." 
 
 "What became of Peggy after that?" 
 
 "Well, there was a tremendous flash of lightning and 
 the thunder right on top of it, so I came here for shelter 
 and told Peggy to follow me. I'm sure she must have 
 heard me." 
 
 "But she did not follow." 
 
 Miss Busby's vacant, timorous glance wandered from 
 the loggia to the courtyard and fixed itself anywhere 
 except on Victor's face, which was uncomfortably 
 serious. 
 
 "I don't see her," she said. 
 
 Victor turned on his heel and walked away.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 VICTOR did not feel alarmed about Peggy. No 
 doubt she had stayed behind with Sarzoni and his 
 friends, and if she was left to herself she might 
 take it into her head to return to Siena with them. 
 So it would save trouble if he found her now and kept 
 her with him. What a nincompoop Miss Busby was, 
 and why had a capable woman like Mrs. Twistleton 
 endured her all these years? No doubt she was putty 
 in the hands of her employer. The Italian party had 
 not left yet. He could hear their high, strident voices 
 in the little enclosed garden on his left cackling to each 
 other like cockatoos. So he went in there himself and 
 looked round it. The formal foreign charm of the place 
 interested him, but he did not linger there because he 
 saw that neither Andrea nor Peggy was with the Italians. 
 After the rain everything was dripping wet, and the 
 air, still heavy and warm, was scented here with lemon 
 blossom. The lemons grew in great tubs set on either 
 side of the bricked paths and bearing fruit and flower 
 at the same time. The oleanders were in flower here too, 
 and so were some of the yuccas and dracaenas. There 
 was no attempt at a lawn, but only beds with fruit trees 
 and flowers and the narrow paths in between. Victor 
 came away when he had looked in every corner of the 
 little place for Peggy, and as he crossed the courtyard 
 he met Mabel. 
 
 "Mother has sent me to find Miss Busby and Peggy," 
 she said. "Have you seen them?" 
 
 261
 
 262 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 "Miss Busby was in there a moment ago," said Victor, 
 pointing out the loggia. "She took shelter from the 
 storm." 
 
 "Where is Peggy?" 
 
 "I'm looking for her. If you see her, tell her she 
 is to come to me at once." 
 
 "Where will you be?" 
 
 "I'm going up to the ramparts." 
 
 "But what can have become of Peggy? Perhaps she 
 has run away again." 
 
 Victor said it was quite likely, and went his way. He 
 got to the top of the winding stone staircase that leads 
 to the ramparts at Belcaro and there looked about him. 
 From where he stood he could see over the low, broad 
 wall into the little garden far below where the Italians 
 were still amusing themselves, and where Miss Busby 
 and Mabel were now sauntering vacantly, both mani- 
 festly bored. He turned from that spectacle to the wall 
 on his other hand, and saw spread before him one of 
 the fairest views in Tuscany: a land of undulating pas- 
 tures and forest spreading as far as the eye could reach 
 towards the blue hills on the horizon. The ilex wood 
 surrounding the castle lay giddy depths beneath him, 
 and as he leaned against the wall he saw that he was 
 high above the tallest trees. To hurl an enemy from 
 here would be to send him surely and quickly to a hor- 
 rible death, and must have been done over and over 
 again when men fought in such places as this, face to 
 face and hand to hand. Not far from where Victor 
 loitered there was a small shelter or summer-house, and 
 when he had stood for some time looking at the view 
 he went on to it, pursuing his search for Peggy. She 
 was not inside, but Andrea Sarzoni sat there by himself, 
 looking as mopy and miserable, thought Victor, as a 
 sentinel bird in the London Zoo. He wondered why 
 he had separated from his friends: and as he wanted
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 263 
 
 to ask him about Peggy he went up to him and sat 
 down. 
 
 "I have not see her since we arrived at the same 
 moment," said Andrea. "Is she not with the English- 
 woman? the one who has an open mouth and foolish 
 eyes, begging your pardon." 
 
 "She is not," said Victor. "I hoped she was with 
 you." 
 
 Andrea shook his head and explained in his ingenuous 
 Italian way and with much physiological detail that the 
 thunder had upset him internally, that he had been sud- 
 denly sick and afflicted, and that he was reposing himself 
 here until it should be time to return home. 
 
 "What can have become of the child?'' said Victor. 
 "Surely she can't have run back to Siena ... to her 
 mother ... all that way." 
 
 "It is more likely that the storm frightened her and 
 that she is still hiding from it," said Andrea. "I hope 
 it is so. If she tried to return to Siena by herself she 
 might lose her way, the poor little one, and get wet 
 through and tired. It is a misfortune that she may not 
 be with her own mother who knows how to cherish her 
 and make her happy. Behold that woman whom she 
 fears and hates. I go away." 
 
 Andrea rose uncertainly to his feet, but sank back 
 again with a sigh as if the effort was still beyond his 
 strength, and Victor observed that the poor little man 
 did look ill and pale. From where they sat they could 
 both see a few yards of the ramparts through a small 
 window in the side of the summer-house: but it was 
 unlikely that anyone could see them. Mrs. Twistleton 
 was walking slowly their way, but stopped before she 
 reached them, leaning with her back against the outer 
 wall, the one high above the ilex wood. She did not 
 seem to be looking at the view, or indeed at any of her 
 surroundings. Her eyes were fixed on the pavement
 
 264 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 at her feet and the expression of her face was evil : 
 so evil that Victor, looking at it, was taken by surprise. 
 She was scowling, quiet and dangerous. She was think- 
 ing and making up her mind. He hoped she would not 
 come past the summer-house and guess that he had seen 
 her, for then she would know that he had seen her 
 naked soul. Instinctively both men were silent: silent 
 and watching. Why did she wait there, and why did 
 she press closer and closer to the wall, her tall, massive 
 figure rising above it like a tower, rigid and immovable? 
 She held an open sunshade in her hands and with it 
 hid the bit of wall beyond her from the men. At least, 
 she hid it for a time, and when she closed it suddenly 
 they both sprang to their feet. For close to her in full 
 view of them came Peggy along the top of the wall 
 balancing herself carefully and, as the men could see, 
 suddenly uncertain and afraid. She might jump down 
 into safety, she might possibly turn and go back, or she 
 might pass behind her step-mother and reach the sum- 
 merhouse. The men held their breath as they watched 
 her and did not speak. A sound she had not expected, 
 a movement to alarm her, and she must be over on the 
 wrong side. She was close now. One hesitating step 
 forward had taken her so close to Mrs. Twistleton that 
 it was too late to jump clear of her. Why didn't the 
 woman move or speak? Was she, too, afraid to startle 
 the child ? 
 
 The sound that Andrea made in his throat was in- 
 articulate, like the low deadly growl of a beast tor- 
 mented and about to spring: and even before Victor 
 he was out of the summer-house and upon the woman. 
 But both men had seen : seen and understood. Slowly, 
 deliberately, relentlessly Mrs. Twistleton had leaned back- 
 wards against the terror-stricken child, pushing her to 
 the abyss: and when the child clutched desperately at 
 her shoulder and her head she had turned in a fury
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 265 
 
 trying to extricate herself. So near a thing it was that 
 when Victor snatched at Peggy her body was tottering 
 towards the edge, and if her frock had not been strong 
 she must have fallen: while Andrea unceremoniously 
 seized Mrs. Twistleton by the arm and pulled her away 
 from the wall and the child with more strength than 
 most people would have thought there could be in his 
 frail form. It was a scuffle of a moment, and the horror 
 came when it was over: making itself felt in the intense 
 silence amidst which the two men tried to recover their 
 breath and the woman her composure. Peggy, looking 
 at Victor's stormy face, began to cry. 
 
 "So you were in there !" began Mrs. Twistleton In a 
 voice that rang as false as her words. "What a mercy ! 
 In another moment Peggy would have dragged me with 
 her, I believe. The wall is very low." 
 
 "Yes !" said Victor. "The wall is very low." 
 
 Another silence ensued, pregnant and denunciatory. 
 Victor took Peggy by the hand and was about to walk 
 away with her when his attention was called to Andrea, 
 who had not spoken at all but looked as if he was going 
 to swoon. The sweat stood in beads on his brow, his 
 color was livid, and he leaned against the opposite wall 
 the image of physical and mental distress. He was 
 groaning a little and muttering something to himself in 
 Italian that Victor did not understand. 
 
 "I'm afraid you're ill again," he said to him. "Let me 
 help you down to your carriage. Stop that noise, Peggy, 
 at once. I can hardly hear myself speak." 
 
 For Peggy was crying her heart out now, partly with 
 fright and partly because she had a guilty conscience and 
 thought that Victor's anger was directed against her. 
 His hand held her more tightly than he realized and she 
 felt herself a captive and in disgrace. Besides, the ad- 
 venture on the wall had shaken her nerve, and the last 
 sickening moments of it seemed to get clearer and more
 
 266 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 dreadful as she thought of them. However, when Mr. 
 Gerard spoke to her in that voice she understood that he 
 meant to be obeyed : and of course, if you know that you 
 must stop crying, you do, and then you soon feel better. 
 Moreover, poor Uncle Andrea did look very ill. Even 
 Peggy could see that, and forgot herself because she felt 
 so sorry for him. Mr. Gerard did not let her hand go, 
 but walked slowly along the ramparts towards the stair- 
 case, his arm round the musician's shoulder. Mrs. 
 Twistleton remained behind. 
 
 Half-way down the stairs Andrea's friends met him, 
 became aware of his plight and volubly took charge. 
 Victor saw them pack themselves into their carriage with 
 much gesticulation and drive away. As he stood near 
 the entrance watching them he saw Miss Busby and 
 Mabel and made up his mind what to do. 
 
 "Your mother wants you," he said to Mabel. "Go 
 up to the top of those stairs and turn to the left. She 
 is still on the ramparts." 
 
 "Where did you find Peggy?" said Mabel, looking in- 
 quisitively at her step-sister's tear-stained face. 
 
 "Ask your mother," said Victor shortly, and turned to 
 Miss Busby. 
 
 "I want you to take Peggy home at once," he said, 
 "and don't let her out of your sight again, please." 
 
 "I am sure it was not my fault before," said Miss 
 Busby, tossing her head at Victor's peremptory tone. 
 "I told you to follow me, Peggy, when the storm began, 
 but you are always so troublesome and disobedient. 
 Where have you been all the time?" 
 
 "She can tell you that on the way back," said Victor 
 impatiently, and put them into the little carriage. 
 
 "Come with us," said Peggy to him. "Come with us! 
 I won't cry if you do." 
 
 "No," said Victor. "I'm going to walk." 
 
 "Then you'll be late for the races"
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 267 
 
 "Yes," said Miss Busby. "We are late as it is. You 
 had better tell the driver to hurry, Peggy, if you want 
 to see it." 
 
 It crossed Victor's mind that after the shock she had 
 had Peggy probably ought to go straight back to the 
 hotel and be put to bed. But he did not say so, because 
 he did not mean to enter into explanations with Miss 
 Busby. He was going to walk home, and while he walked 
 make up his mind what to do. There had been an 
 attempt at murder. He and the Italian had both seen 
 it, but if it had succeeded could they have proved any- 
 thing? The more he thought it over the more he felt 
 convinced that it would have been impossible. Mrs. 
 Twistleton would have sworn that she stood still at first 
 in order not to frighten the child, and that when she 
 turned Peggy lost her balance and toppled over. It 
 might have happened so. The moment when they were 
 at grips with each other was confused, swift and chang- 
 ing. It was the moment before when she leaned back 
 against the child that Victor saw clearly, and that con- 
 demned her. He had no doubt whatever about it. The 
 thought must have come into her mind suddenly, but 
 she had acted on it with determination : as a man acts 
 on an opportunity long desired and suddenly seen. She 
 must never have an opportunity again. 
 
 Victor did not feel uneasy about the next thirty-six 
 hours. There would not be a second attempt in that 
 time, and when Saturday came she should leave Peggy 
 behind with him. She would know why and probably 
 raise no difficulties : for she had had a fright. He wished 
 he need not see her again under circumstances that made 
 the civilities of daily life inevitable: but it was easier 
 to wait for her departure on Saturday than to depart 
 himself with Peggy to-night. He need not see much 
 of her except at meals. 
 
 He wished he had cautioned Andrea not to say a word
 
 268 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 to Daphne and distress her unnecessarily : but as he had 
 little Italian, and the Italian little English, communica- 
 tion between them was not easy. He must try to see 
 Daphne himself to-morrow and tell her of his new in- 
 tentions with regard to Peggy: but he was not as happy 
 about them as he would have been a week or two ago : 
 for, after all, what had he to say to her? "A few days 
 hence, when I choose, in fact, I shall take away your 
 child whom you love and send her to an English school, 
 where I hope she will be well treated. But you will 
 not see her again unless I countenance some informal 
 meeting that can only last a short time. For years to 
 come she will grow up in the circumstances I arrange for 
 her, and you will have no part in her education and 
 development. I will do my best for her, but I know 
 nothing of children and must leave her body and soul to 
 strangers." But there would be no need to say this to 
 Daphne because she would know that this was what he 
 was going to do : and she would be most unhappy. 
 
 He went home by the Campo but remained below 
 amongst the crowd instead of finding his seat on the 
 stand, and looking up at it he saw that Miss Busby was 
 there with Peggy, but not Mrs. Twistleton and Mabel. 
 When the race was over he reached the foot of the stand 
 in time to get hold of Peggy as she came down from 
 it, and keeping her hand in his he led her through the 
 thronged main street. His feelings for the child had 
 undergone a change he hardly understood himself lately, 
 and to-day had accentuated it. He was glad to feel 
 her small live hand in his, and his anger grew hot within 
 him as he thought of what might have been. 
 
 "You don't want me to cry again, do you?" her small 
 fluty voice said insistently, and he realized that she had 
 said other things before and that he had not heard them, 
 because his brooding wrath had made him deaf to 
 her.
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 269 
 
 "Why should you cry?" he said, looking down at her, 
 and he spoke kindly. 
 
 "You look so dreadfully angry and you won't listen 
 to what I say," she told him. "I've told you twice that 
 I'm sorry. When I say I'm sorry to Mummy she kisses 
 me and puts her arms round me." 
 
 "Well, I'm not going to do that here," said Victor, 
 recovering himself. "What are you sorry about?" 
 
 "About being on the wall and running away from 
 Miss Busby. I know I ought not. But first I went with 
 Uncle Andrea and his friends, and then I saw the stair- 
 case, and then I saw the wall and got on it. I thought 
 it would be easier than the cherry-tree: and it was easy 
 till I saw her and got frightened. Besides, she tried to 
 push me off." 
 
 "Nonsense!" said Victor quickly. 
 
 "She did. I expect it was a judgment on me for 
 saying I wanted to push her off the tower at Pisa. Now 
 that I know what it feels like I shan't ever say it again. 
 But she did give me a little push, and I caught hold of 
 her anyhow, and then you came and Uncle Andrea and I 
 forget the rest. I haven't told Miss Busby about the 
 push because she wouldn't believe me, but I've told her 
 I nearly fell off the wall and was killed, and she says it 
 serves me right for playing such a trick on her and that 
 she wishes she was in England again. She is rather 
 annoyed because you've torn my frock where you caught 
 me by it, and now she will have to get another out of 
 my trunk. Our things are all packed ready for Satur- 
 day. I wish I wasn't going with them. I don't believe 
 you hear a word I say, Mr. Gerard. What are you 
 thinking about? You needn't hold my hand so hard. 
 You hurt it, and I'm not going to run away. It's no use, 
 because you know now where Mummy lives. Shall we 
 see Mummy to-morrow at the Palio ?" 
 
 "I don't know," said Victor.
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 T"\EGGY was enjoying the day of the Palio very much. 
 In the morning Mr. Gerard took her here and there 
 in the city seeing what there was to be seen. After 
 weeks of unbroken blazing heat this day of all others 
 chose to be clouded and showery, but she had her 
 mackintosh and he had his. They went to the contrada 
 church of the Istrice and saw all the costumes, hats and 
 banners ready for the great procession that would pre- 
 cede the race that evening, and for a little while they 
 sat in the church of Provenzano, where a solemn Mass 
 was being sung and where at night the winning horse 
 would come to be blessed while the crowd inside sang 
 the Te Deum. Peggy knew it rather selfish, but she 
 was glad Mr. Gerard had not asked Mabel to come with 
 them. She liked him so much, that she liked him to 
 herself, but best of all she liked him and her mother 
 together. 
 
 "Can't we go and see her?" she said, and Victor, 
 nothing loth, went to the flat with the child and asked 
 for Daphne. 
 
 But Giuditta said that her mistress was out and would 
 probably not be back for some time. "If the Signorina 
 liked to come in and wait. . . ." 
 
 "Can I?" said Peggy, but Victor reminded her that 
 she wanted to see another contrada church and that then 
 it would be lunch-time. 
 
 "I'll just look at the cherry tree and my room," said 
 Peggy, and darted past Giuditta into the corridor. In 
 two minutes she was back again, but as she walked with 
 
 270
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 271 
 
 Victor towards the church they were about to see, she 
 said: 
 
 "Mummy must be going away. I peeped into her 
 room, and there was a trunk half packed with clothes and 
 the bed was heaped up with clothes. Where can she 
 be going?" 
 
 "I've no idea," said Victor, startled and displeased by 
 this information. If Daphne was leaving Siena without 
 telling him, his visions of some days with her and Peggy 
 would not materialize. He must see her as soon as 
 possible and persuade her to wait. Perhaps if he went 
 round directly after lunch he would have better luck. 
 
 "I wish you would get a big car again and take us 
 both with you," said Peggy on their way back to the 
 hotel. 
 
 "Where to?" 
 
 "Anywhere: the further the better: for ever and 
 ever." ' 
 
 "What ideas you have!" 
 
 "I know Mummy would like it: and so should I." 
 
 "How do you know?" 
 
 "Well, I think so : but you might ask her." 
 
 "Come along," said Victor; "we shall be late for 
 lunch," and remembered as he spoke that he was about 
 to see Mrs. Twistleton for the first time since yesterday. 
 For she had not appeared at dinner yesterday, but had 
 sent a message to say that she was tired and would dine 
 in her room. 
 
 She looked much as usual, he thought: self-possessed 
 and in the best of health: but she avoided his eye. He 
 avoided hers too, and did not speak more than was 
 necessary. Luckily Miss Busby and the children had 
 plenty to say, for the children were full of excitement 
 and Miss Busby full of complaints. She had seen noth- 
 ing yet, she said, because she had been busy all the 
 morning with packing for next day's early start, but
 
 272 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 she had been told that the Palio would not take place 
 to-day on account of the rain, and in that case what 
 would happen? Would Mrs. Twistleton wait in Siena 
 for it and want trunks unpacked again? 
 
 "I thought you had packed everything yesterday," put 
 in Peggy. "You said it would take you ever so long 
 to find me another frock instead of the one that got 
 torn." 
 
 "That was partly what hindered me," said Miss Busby. 
 
 Mrs. Twistleton said nothing until lunch was over, and 
 then she called Miss Busby away from the children and 
 told her in Victor's presence that whether the Palio 
 was put off or run the start for Vallombrosa would take 
 place. 
 
 "What is to happen about Peggy?" she said to Victor. 
 
 "Peggy is to stay behind with me," he said. 
 
 Miss Busby's mouth yawed open and her eyes looked 
 as if they would fall out of her head. 
 
 "What !" she cried, forgetting to be as polite as usual. 
 
 "You needn't say anything to her yet," said Victor. 
 "I want to tell her myself to-morrow." 
 
 "But . . . but. . . ." 
 
 "That will do, Miss Busby," said Mrs. Twistleton, 
 and without looking again at either of them walked out 
 of the room. 
 
 "This is a sudden arrangement," began Miss Busby. 
 "I shall have to think things over. I may have put 
 some of Mabel's things into Peggy's trunks. In fact, 
 I am sure I have. I think if Mrs. Twistleton knew of 
 it yesterday it would have been more considerate to have 
 told me." 
 
 "Don't worry," said Victor, who did not like Miss 
 Busby much but felt sorry for her sometimes. "We 
 won't keep what doesn't belong to us. If we find any- 
 thing of Mabel's we'll send it on: and will you please 
 tell Peggy now that I am waiting for her?"
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 273 
 
 He seemed unwilling to let Peggy out of his sight, 
 thought Miss Busby. All this morning he had had the 
 child with him, and now he was proposing to take charge 
 of her this afternoon too: and, strangest of all, she was 
 to be left behind with him to-morrow. What could 
 have happened ? But he was not a man Miss Busby felt 
 able to question. He was kind, but he had a short way 
 with him at times. 
 
 "If she is going to England with you she will want her 
 warm clothes," she said fussily, "and she has none ex- 
 cept a pink coat stained with orange juice, and that is 
 at the very bottom of the trunk. She says her mother 
 threw away her old black serge." 
 
 "Never mind, Miss Busby," said Victor firmly. "Will 
 you send Peggy to me now? and you needn't trouble 
 about her clothes. I'll see to them." 
 
 Of course that meant that he would ask her mother to 
 help him. Miss Busby shook her head over the state of 
 things as she went upstairs and wondered again what 
 had happened: but probably she would never know. 
 Dear Mrs. Twistleton was so reticent. So unlike herself. 
 It was all she could do not to tell Mabel and Peggy the 
 news directly she saw them. However, by a great effort 
 she turned her attention to what she had to do, and 
 made Peggy tidy for the afternoon. 
 
 It was true that Victor did not feel inclined to let the 
 child out of his sight to-day. He went here and there, 
 he thought of this and that, but he could not forget what 
 he had seen. It burned in his mind, eclipsing every- 
 thing else with an increasing horror. He went over 
 every moment until each successive stage crystallized in 
 his memory, some with deadly clearness and some 
 blurred. From the time when he rushed after Andrea 
 he only had a confused impression of a struggle and 
 his frenzied snatch at the tottering child. He would 
 like to see Andrea again, and there was a long afternoon
 
 274 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 before them. Peggy and he might call at h~is rooms after 
 seeing Daphne. 
 
 But they had no luck. Daphne was still out and 
 Signer Sarzoni was out giving lessons. Giuditta could 
 not say when her mistress would be back, and she seemed 
 annoyed at being asked. Signor Sarzoni would probably 
 not return to his rooms till after the Palio. 
 
 "The Palio seems to have a bad effect on the temper," 
 said Victor. "I never saw Giuditta snappy before. She 
 almost shut the door in our faces. Never mind. We'll 
 have an early tea now and then we'll go to St. Catherine's 
 Church to see the Oca's horse blessed." 
 
 The little church was crowded when they arrived, 
 chiefly with British and American tourists, but Victor 
 found seats for himself and Peggy. They had a long 
 time to wait, but at last the doors were opened and the 
 horse came in, wearing a red, a green and a white ostrich 
 feather all upstanding from his head. He looked pleased 
 with himself and behaved well, only pawing the tiled 
 floor at times while the officiating priest read a few 
 prayers to him and sprinkled him with holy water. When 
 the short ceremony was over everyone filed out of the 
 church after the horse and went towards the Campo. 
 To please Peggy, who did not wish to miss anything, 
 Victor went by the Via Cavour, which was so densely 
 packed with people that progress was made by inches. 
 Every minute or so the sound of the contrada drums 
 would be heard, and then the people pressed sideways in 
 the street to let a contrada pass, its captain, pages and 
 flag-bearers all dressed now in their finery. Victor had 
 seen this morning in the church of the Istrice that the 
 costliest silks and velvets were used for these costumes. 
 The boys who acted as pages were chosen for their 
 beauty, wore long fair hair beneath their feathered caps, 
 and looked like the portraits of young Raphael in 
 Pinturichio's frescoes. The Alfieri were older men and
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 275 
 
 did wonderful feats with their flags, twirling them round 
 their bodies and hurling them into the air to catch them 
 again. They were all on the way to the piazza in front 
 of the Duomo, where they were to assemble for the great 
 procession that precedes the race, and Peggy wanted to 
 go there. But Victor pointed out that they could not be 
 in two places at once, and that if she watched the proces- 
 sion form and start she would not be in her place to 
 see it enter the Campo and march round it. So they 
 struggled through the crowd to the Campo and found a 
 still greater crowd there. To-day every window and 
 balcony was hung with flags and bunting, every seat was 
 occupied, and people had found themselves a niche in all 
 sorts of unexpected corners on roofs and even high up 
 on the Mangia Tower. The beautiful bell of the tower 
 was tolling constantly. Victor could see it move, and 
 showed it to Peggy, but they could not hear it above the 
 noise made by the crowd : for when twenty-five thousand 
 Italians are clustered like swarming bees and in a state 
 of unusual excitement they easily outvoice a bell. A 
 hawker with colored gas balloons attracted Peggy's at- 
 tention before anything else, and Victor made her happy 
 by buying her two. Then they passed another hawker 
 with an open umbrella filled with fans, and another with 
 one right side up and stuck full of imitation snails and 
 caterpillars like a pin-cushion. Others were selling cakes 
 that looked like currant buns, but after the cakes she 
 had eaten at tea Peggy could not pretend to be hungry. 
 She would have liked an ice in a wafer cup, but Victor 
 got her past the barrow and said they must go to their 
 seats now. In a moment the man, standing head and 
 shoulders above the crowd in the central place, would 
 fire the maroon again, and then the carabinieri and the 
 soldiers would begin to sweep the course clear for the 
 procession. 
 
 "Are you excited?" said Peggy, squeezing Victor's
 
 276 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 hand. "I am: but I wish Mummy was with us, don't 
 you? I wonder where she is. I've looked everywhere, 
 but I can't see her." 
 
 Victor had raked the windows, the balconies and the 
 stands as well as he could and had not seen Daphne. It 
 was not likely that she would be standing amongst the 
 crowd by herself: at least, he hoped not. But if she 
 chose to run risks, there was no one to say her nay. 
 Why was there a half -packed trunk in her room, and 
 where was she going? She ought not to be running 
 about the world by herself with no one to look after her. 
 Certainly she had been alone since Major Coverdale died, 
 but she had lived quietly in Rome doing war-work. 
 What had made her restless now? When he got to his 
 seat he would have a more careful look through his 
 field-glass. From where he stood he could see that Mrs. 
 Twistleton, Miss Busby and Mabel were in their places. 
 Peggy should go up in front of him and then he would 
 be sitting next to the staircase and could escape easily 
 if he wished. 
 
 So Peggy clambered up the little staircase first, but not 
 without disaster, for one of her gas balloons escaped and 
 nearly frightened Miss Busby into a fit. 
 
 "I had not noticed you," she said, "and it came right 
 past me. I thought it was a bomb and that we should 
 all be blown up, so I suppose I did give a scream. I 
 don't know why those Italians should look amused. Eng- 
 lish phlegm is celebrated, but a bomb is not a pleasant 
 object close to your face. I wish you would keep that 
 one away from me, Peggy. I've always disliked those 
 balloons, and I'm not enjoying myself because I'm on 
 edge waiting for that horrid pistol to go off again. Why 
 a pistol? A bell or a whistle would have done just as 
 well, for no one attends to it. I can't think where all 
 those people come from, and look at those children 
 crawling under the barrier on to the course. They will
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 277 
 
 get trampled on by the horses as sure as fate. I'm 
 going to shut my eyes when the race begins, and so will 
 Mabel. We don't want to see the jockeys slash at each 
 other's heads with oxhide whips. So unsportsmanlike! 
 and if they foul each other some of them might be 
 killed. I've often said that if I went to Spain I would 
 not look on at a bull-fight, but from all I hear this may 
 be nearly as bad." 
 
 "You had better go home," said Mrs. Twistleton in 
 an incisive voice. "I should prefer it if you did." 
 
 Poor Miss Busby! The last thing she desired was to 
 be taken at her word and be sent about her business just 
 as the fun was to begin. She was a tiresome, discon- 
 tented woman, but for once Victor felt sorry for her. 
 She hummed and hawed, tried to excuse herself, thought 
 she might as well stay now that she was here, got red 
 in the face and finally, in obedience to Mrs. Twistleton's 
 eye, rose in her seat and scrambled past Victor and Peggy 
 to the staircase. 
 
 "Get into the crowd in tAe center," he whispered to 
 her. "You'll be all right there and you'll see some- 
 thing." 
 
 "I should never dare to do that," sighed Miss Busby, 
 then gave a screech like a steam-whistle because the 
 maroon went off again : but she managed to get down 
 the staircase and out of the crowd safely, and then went 
 back to the hotel, where she lay down in order to soothe 
 her nerves and fell fast asleep. When she waked she 
 wrote a long letter to Mr. Crabbe describing the Palio: 
 only leaving out the procession: for she prided herself 
 on being a truthful woman.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 THE course was cleared, and from where Peggy sat 
 she could see the trumpeters in medieval dress 
 who headed the great procession. They were com- 
 ing: and the silence that fell on the Campo was as if 
 the tens of thousands there were suddenly turned to 
 stone. You could hear the bell of the Mangia Tower, 
 rich and low : you could hear the trumpets when the 
 trumpeters actually appeared leading pages, flag-bearers, 
 horses, jockeys, heralds and captains behind them. Each 
 of the seventeen contrada made a group of its own, 
 wearing its own colors and conjuring with its own flags. 
 Each one was received with roars of welcome and delight 
 by its own friends, so that the air was rent with shouts 
 and electric with excitement. When the contrada of 
 the Oca passed Peggy wanted to shout for Uncle 
 Andrea's sake, but the people amongst whom she sat 
 watched it in silence, and she had not the courage to 
 stand up and shout by herself. Most of them screamed 
 and waved when the Onda appeared, and she took no 
 interest in the Onda, although it possessed some fine 
 Alfieri, who stopped in front of Peggy and did all their 
 best tricks with their flags. She wanted to shout for 
 the Istrice too, but it passed her corner as the Oca had, 
 without an ovation. It was the most beautiful proces- 
 sion Peggy had ever seen, and Mabel, who now sat 
 next to her, said that she liked it better than the Lord 
 Mayor's show or the pantomime at Drury Lane. Peggy 
 had never been to London, so she could not make these 
 experienced comparisons, but she was intelligent enough 
 
 278
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 279 
 
 to know that the procession derived value from its back- 
 ground and its associations. Uncle Andrea and her 
 mother had both told her stories from the history of 
 Siena, and she knew that the Campo had been the scene 
 of most of them. The men marching slowly past were 
 the descendants of the men who had fought for their 
 liberties in the narrow streets of Siena and had survived 
 the awful siege of 1554, when the inexorable laws of war 
 sent the weak and the old, the women and the children, 
 outside the walls to die. Her mother had said she did 
 not want Peggy to hear of such horrors, and told her there 
 and then about Cagenova watering her lilies and violets 
 on her balcony and playing with the goldfinch in the 
 mulberry tree: but she did not tell her the true end 
 of the story because it is sad. She went on to speak 
 of Provenzano begging on the Campo for his friend who 
 was in prison : and of the donkey-races and races with 
 buffaloes that were run here hundreds of years ago. So 
 Peggy had a little more idea than Mabel of the linked 
 memories that the educated Sienese bring with them to 
 the Palio, and of the long traditions of ambition, friend- 
 ship and hostility that sway all classes when the race is 
 run. Last year her mother had seen a woman near her 
 fall into hysterics on the balcony where she sat because 
 the horse of her contrada dismounted his jockey before 
 her eyes : and Peggy, proud of her knowledge, told Victor 
 that when the race was over the winning jockey would 
 have to be protected from being hugged to death by his 
 friends and the second from being beaten by his dis- 
 appointed supporters. Certainly the scene was memo- 
 rable. After the rain of the morning the air was fresh 
 and cool, and the clear evening light fell on the packed 
 crowds, on the flags and bunting, on the long, brilliantly- 
 colored procession slowly making its way round the 
 corner, on the shining armor worn by each captain of 
 a contrada and on the flags being hurled into the air
 
 28o LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 at every point of honor. The bands played martial 
 music, the gayly caparisoned horses about to run marched 
 barebacked with their people, the seats reserved for the 
 procession beneath the Palazzo Pubblico gradually be- 
 came filled with color, and then, when all except the 
 horses and jockeys were massed there, the moment that 
 comes to Siena twice a year had come. The horses with 
 their jockeys issued from the Palazzo Pubblico and took 
 their places behind the rope stretched across the course 
 just in front of Peggy. There were nine, and some 
 were very fidgety. It was a breathless moment till the 
 rope dropped and they were off and away. Three times 
 they were to run round the course, but before they 
 were once round one man had been dismounted and three 
 left hopelessly behind. So there were three left: the 
 Onda, the Istrice and the Nicchia or Snail : and how the 
 people shouted for them ! They were coming by a second 
 time now, and to Peggy's delight and amazement a young 
 man white with excitement suddenly jumped up like a 
 Jack-in-the-box behind the stand where no one had been 
 before and shouted "Istrice!" till he was hoarse: so she 
 rose to her feet and shouted "Istrice!" too, and wished 
 she knew how to say "Never mind" in Italian when the 
 Istrice horse was overtaken by the other two. For the 
 young man looked most woe-begone, and sank below the 
 back of the stand as mysteriously as he had risen above 
 it : and as he did so the two remaining horses flashed past 
 the stand a third time, and the Nicchia won. 
 
 "They are thrashing the Onda jockey, the skunks!" 
 cried Victor, rather excited himself; and in his desire 
 to see what was happening he was out of the stand and 
 on the course in a twinkling. Peggy thought she would 
 follow him, and ran down the staircase and into the 
 crowd. 
 
 The moment the race was over twenty-five thousand 
 people wanted either to get home or to the church of the
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 281 
 
 Provenzano to see the winning horse blessed. The peo- 
 ple of the Nicchia were crazy with delight and were 
 being surrounded and congratulated by their friends. 
 The stands and balconies were being rapidly emptied, 
 but the course itself and the center of the Campo were 
 so crowded that Victor, having left his seat, found it 
 slow work to approach it again. He wanted to get back 
 to pick up Peggy and see Mrs. Twistleton and the chil- 
 dren through the throng. But by the time he worked 
 his way to that corner of the Campo they had disap- 
 peared; so he went with the tide into the Via Cavour 
 expecting to overtake them, and before he reached the 
 Palazzo Tolomei he did see Mrs. Twistleton and Mabel 
 just ahead of him. 
 
 "Where is Peggy?" he said, catching them up. 
 
 "She ran after you," said Mrs. Twistleton. 
 
 "I've not seen her," said Victor. 
 
 Mrs. Twistleton walked on, suggesting by her manner 
 that Peggy's fortunes were no more her affair to-day 
 than they would be to-morrow, since Victor chose to 
 remove the child from her jurisdiction. 
 
 "I saw her," said Mabel. "She got into the crowd, 
 and then she met that queer-looking man who was at 
 Belcaro: the man with one shoulder higher than the 
 other." 
 
 "Did she leave the course with him?" 
 
 "I don't know. I saw him speak to her, and then we 
 had to move ourselves and got into the crowd. Perhaps 
 he took her to the hotel." 
 
 "I must go back and see if I can find her," said Victor, 
 thinking that pos.;ibly the child had waited for him near 
 the stand. But she was not there. The Campo was 
 nearly deserted now and she was nowhere to be seen. 
 Nor could he find her in the Via Cavour, and when he 
 asked at the hotel she had not arrived yet : but dinner 
 was ready.
 
 282 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 "She must have run home to her mother," said 
 Mrs. Twistleton. "Miss Busby can fetch her after 
 dinner." 
 
 "I'm going myself now," said Victor, for he felt un- 
 easy. 
 
 Crowded as the streets were, it did not take him long 
 to reach Daphne's flat, but when he rang at the old 
 carved doors no one came. Again and again he rang, 
 without result, and as he waited he thought of the half- 
 packed trunk seen by Peggy and of Giuditta's odd man- 
 ner this afternoon. Now that he thought of it, she 
 had looked embarrassed, and she had wanted to get rid 
 of them because there was something to hide: and she 
 had got rid of him easily. What a fool he had been to 
 go ! Probably Daphne had been in the house at the 
 time, and if he had insisted he might have seen her and 
 not be standing here in the dark ringing a bell that no 
 one answered. From the street below part of her garden 
 could be seen and some of her windows. As he remem- 
 bered this he ran downstairs to look at them. They 
 were in total darkness. A servant girl watching him 
 and belonging to another flat in the house addressed him 
 now and said something in Italian that he did not under- 
 stand. He pointed to Daphne's garden and said her name 
 clearly. 
 
 "Se ne sono andate e non ritorneranno piu," said the 
 girl, and interpreted what she said with her expressive, 
 hands. "Gone away. Gone away," she told him. 
 
 Victor forgot that he was hungry and it was getting 
 late. Non ritorneranno piu, he said over and over again 
 to himself, and it did not need much scholarship to make 
 out what the girl meant. Daphne and Giuditta had gone 
 away. They were not coming back and they had taken 
 Peggy with them. The simplicity and the audacity of 
 it! Victor hardly knew whether to laugh or fume: but 
 he was fuming soon after he was admitted to Andrea's
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 283 
 
 room and found that the musician knew all but would 
 tell nothing. 
 
 "I find that Mrs. Coverdale has left Siena," he began. 
 
 Andrea bowed and thereby admitted that Mrs. Cover- 
 dale had left Siena. 
 
 "Peggy is with her?" 
 
 Andrea disclaimed all knowledge of Peggy's move- 
 ments with a little fluttering movement of his hands, but 
 he did not otherwise deny it. 
 
 "She was seen with you on the Campo when the race 
 was over. You were speaking to her. You took her 
 away." 
 
 "I am ill," said Andrea, who did look whiter than 
 usual, and worn. "I have not slept. This morning I 
 would go to the police and say to them what I have seen. 
 But, Signora Coverdale, she thinks otherwise. She say, 
 my bambino shall come with me and hide from those 
 bad people. No scandal. No police." 
 
 Andrea sawed the air horizontally as Italians do in 
 negation, and sighed, as if the effort of speaking English 
 was too much for him just then. 
 
 "You told Mrs. Coverdale !" exclaimed Victor. 
 
 "Certainly I told her. Everything that happened I 
 told her. She knows that her bambnia would have been 
 dead if you had not been as quick as the hand of God." 
 
 "We were both there." 
 
 "But you saved the child. She knows it. She will 
 write you a letter that I shall give you when it comes. 
 But she say that never again shall her bambina see that 
 wicked woman . . . never . . . never ! So she have gone 
 away." 
 
 "Where to?" 
 
 Andrea spoke with his hands but not with his lips, and 
 what he said with his hands might mean either that he 
 did not know or would not tell. 
 
 "I'm afraid I must know," said Victor quietly.
 
 284 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 Andrea's silence seemed to intimate that he had said 
 all he had to say. 
 
 "If necessary I shall have to go to the police for help," 
 pursued Victor. "I would much rather not." 
 
 "Dio mio!" cried the Italian. "Of what paste are you 
 made? Will you still persecute that poor woman and 
 her child? Do you want to send her to prison, where 
 she would probably die? What has she done to you that 
 you should be her enemy?" 
 
 "I'm not her enemy," said Victor. 
 
 The Italian looked at the Englishman, whose face, in 
 his opinion, was expressionless and cold. The man sat 
 there as still as stone, not to be moved, not to be cajoled. 
 Yet the fine ear of the musician had heard a slight 
 tremor in his voice and a touch of warmth in his denial. 
 
 "I'm her friend," said Victor, speaking again, and this 
 time there was no doubt about it, his voice was eager. 
 
 "You love her!" said Andrea. 
 
 The Englishman blushed. The Italian marveled, 
 understood, and saw the fabric of his own dreams shat- 
 tered like a spider's web. Automatically, as if to console 
 himself, he took up his violin which lay on a table beside 
 him and put it down again. 
 
 "But you would separate her from her child," he said. 
 
 "I would not," said Victor. 
 
 "But you came to Siena for that purpose. You com- 
 pelled her to give up the child. You put Peggy in her 
 step-mother's power. Always you have been on the 
 wrong side." 
 
 "It does look like it, I know*," said Victor, "but I've 
 changed my mind. Anyhow, I must see Mrs. Coverdale, 
 and if you won't tell me where she has gone " 
 
 "You will go to the police!" 
 
 "I must find her and I must find Peggy. I'm respon- 
 sible for Peggy. I can't let her disappear into the un- 
 known and sit down under it. Don't you see, man?"
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 285 
 
 "What will you say to Mrs. Coverdale?" 
 
 Victor stared and laughed. "That's on the lap of the 
 gods," he said: and though Andrea did not understand 
 the phrase, perhaps he followed the Englishman's mean- 
 ing, for he sighed, and then showing Victor a railway 
 time-table open near him, he pointed to a name on it and 
 explained a route. 
 
 "But they went in a car," he said, "and the car must 
 return to Siena, and if you went to the police they would 
 find it. Otherwise. . . ." He looked at a map open 
 near him on the table and pointed to a name on it. 
 
 "I am very unhappy," he said, when he had done 
 this. "I feel like a traitor: but to hide is difficult in 
 these days. The police would have found her for you 
 sooner or later, and that would have been worse for her. 
 But I am very anxious, for I do not know what is in her 
 mind or whether she will listen to you. If she will not, 
 what will happen to her and to her child?" 
 
 "I'll let you know," said Victor, and before the two 
 men parted they shook hands. 
 
 It was close on midnight when he went into the lounge 
 and found Mrs. Twistleton still up and apparently wait- 
 ing to see him. 
 
 "Did you find Peggy?" she said. 
 
 "I know where she is," said he. 
 
 "Isn't she in Siena, then?" 
 
 "No. Her mother is hiding with her in the moun- 
 tains." 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 "I suppose she thinks her life was in danger here," 
 said Victor, and turned away.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 VICTOR stood in front of the small villa that had 
 been described to him by a waiter who spoke a 
 little English. He knew he had come to the right 
 place because there was a board on the gate with a paper 
 gummed on to it, and on the paper was written in large 
 letters, and in English: 
 
 COUNTRY SEAT TO LET. 
 SIX ROOMS AND A GARDEN. 
 
 But the gate was locked and the front door was shut. 
 All the windows were shut too, and another gate leading 
 to the garden, and the back of the house was chained and 
 padlocked. The place seemed to be uninhabited: and 
 yet the waiter had told him for certain that the English 
 lady with her child and her servant were there. They 
 had only arrived the night before, but they had gone 
 straight there, and the Italian servant had been in the 
 village this morning buying food and other things that 
 she wanted. The country seat was furnished and be- 
 longed to a gentleman in Bologna who had probably lent 
 it to the lady for a time. 
 
 Victor had taken two days over his journey, because 
 when he reached Florence his car had behaved as cars 
 often do when the chauffeur is less anxious to get on 
 than his employer. Something had happened that caused 
 delay, and when that something was set right a night in 
 Florence had become inevitable. However, it did not 
 matter much. Here he stood now within hail of Daphne, 
 but apparently she did not wish to be hailed. When he 
 
 286
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 287 
 
 had rattled on the gate and called to the closed windows 
 in vain he began to wonder what he could do next. How 
 absurd to think that she could elude him long in this 
 way! She would have to come out of the house some 
 time; and if he could not get in he would hang about 
 outside till he saw her. He must see her. 
 
 There was not a sound anywhere within. Perhaps 
 they were living in rooms at the back and did not hear. 
 He rattled on the gate again and shouted to Peggy. 
 Some shock-headed Italian girls of the peasant class 
 looked out of an upper window in the neighboring house 
 and seemed to be amused. He wished he could talk 
 to them, but all he could do was to point to the "country 
 seat" and say Signora Inglese. They nodded, and said 
 something in voluble Italian that he could not under- 
 stand. He pointed to the gate and rattled it. They 
 shook their heads then and disappeared. It was mad- 
 dening. By the time he had stood there for an hour 
 he would have smashed a window if he could have 
 reached one, and got in that way. But there were 
 neighbors close by, and he did not want to be seen 
 housebreaking in a foreign country because it would lead 
 to complications with the foreign police, who might be 
 disagreeable and would probably not speak English. The 
 little house was protected in front by an iron railing 
 and at the back by a high garden wall. He had been 
 all round it. 
 
 He actually had to go to lunch at his hotel without 
 having made himself heard, and after spending most of 
 his afternoon at the locked gate he went down the hill 
 to dinner feeling a fool for his pains. After dinner he 
 strolled about the village for a time and sat on a little 
 piazza, where a band was playing. The moon shone on 
 the old houses and on the wooded hills that rose high 
 behind their roofs and on swarms of village children, 
 some at play and some dancing to the music. The sum-
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 mer visitors wandered to and fro, and in front of a 
 cafe people sat at little tables eating ices. When the 
 music stopped it was nearly eleven; but no one seemed 
 in a hurry to go to bed; and as he strolled back to his 
 hotel and passed the turning leading to the "country 
 seat" he hesitated a moment and then took it. He would 
 have a look at it by moonlight. 
 
 At first he thought the place was as lifeless by night 
 as by day ; and then, as he stood there listening, he heard 
 the sound of a key in a lock at the front door. He in- 
 stantly retreated carefully and quietly to a place in deep 
 shade from which he could watch the gate, but could not 
 be clearly seen. He had hardly got there when he saw 
 Daphne come out of the house, unlock the gate, look all 
 ways ; and then walk slowly on by the path leading along 
 the hillside high above the valley. He let her get a 
 hundred yards ahead of him and then he followed her. 
 She went on some way past the last houses at this high 
 end of the village and past some farm buildings strag- 
 gling outside it until she reached a bend in the path, 
 and at the corner of it she sat down, her chin in her 
 hand. She wore no wrap over her light summer dress 
 and no hat, for the night was warm. The valley was 
 flooded with moonlight ; the twin peaks commanding it 
 seemed close to the bright stars above them, and from 
 the village far below her came sounds of human life and 
 at the hour the loud chimes of the church clock striking 
 five times to inform the world that it was eleven. 
 
 Victor, now that his hour had come, wondered how he 
 would begin so as not to alarm and repel her. He was 
 far from sure of his reception or of what the issue of 
 their meeting would be: and he felt both eager and 
 anxious. If she would not listen to him he did not know 
 yet what his next move would be. Now she heard his 
 step, looked up at him, half rose, and then sat down again,
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 289 
 
 her face expressing terror, disappointment, chagrin : per- 
 haps uncertainty. 
 
 "Don't look at me like that," he said, his eyes searching 
 her face. "I told you that wherever you were I should 
 find you." 
 
 "The day has been so hot," she murmured, as if 
 apologizing to herself. "I came out for a breath of air. 
 I thought at this time of night. . . ." 
 
 "You know that I've been besieging your house all 
 day?" 
 
 She looked down and did not speak. 
 
 "You know that you could not have kept me out for 
 long. I should have got in somehow." 
 
 "But how did you know that I was here?" 
 
 "Sarzoni told me." 
 
 "Andrea ! Andrea betrayed me ! With what, then, 
 did you threaten him?" 
 
 "I had to find you . . . and Peggy." 
 
 "I thought you would go to the police. I did not 
 think you would use the thumbscrew on poor Andrea. 
 He believed that I should be safe here for a time. The 
 house I am in belongs to his friends. They have lent it 
 to me." 
 
 "If you thought you were safe why did you lock all 
 the doors and windows?" 
 
 "I couldn't feel as sure as he did. I was afraid you 
 might find out somehow and come for Peggy. The police 
 might have traced the car: and of course we are more 
 conspicuous in Italy than Italians would be. It is diffi- 
 cult to hide." 
 
 "Very difficult," agreed Victor. 
 
 "But there was nothing else to do. If it had not been 
 for you Peggy would be dead now. I know that, and 
 I am grateful. But I cannot feel grateful to you for 
 anything else. I warned you and you would not listen.
 
 290 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 I will not let Peggy go back to that woman. If you 
 insist on it I shall make the whole story public and fight 
 the case in England. I daresay I should lose it. One 
 knows what law-courts are. The men would be like 
 you. They would not believe me or esteem me be- 
 cause. . . ." 
 
 "I esteem you more than any woman in the world," 
 said Victor, moved by the sight of her helplessness and 
 her distress. 
 
 "But you mean to separate me from Peggy." 
 
 "I mean to look after Peggy." 
 
 "But you don't . . . you don't. The other night she 
 was nearly murdered. Next day she was carried off. 
 What do you want to do with her now? To take her 
 back to " 
 
 "No, no," said Victor. "How can you think so ? Don't 
 cry. Don't look so unhappy. I know I've failed, but I 
 want to make good. If only you'll listen to me. . . ." 
 
 He took her hand in his, her beautiful slim hand that 
 had been supporting her chin till now. 
 
 "It is burning hot," he said, as he carried it to his 
 lips. "You are ill." 
 
 "I am not ill," said Daphne, trying to draw her hand 
 away, "but I am most unhappy. I can't let my 
 child go." 
 
 "There is a way out if you will take it." 
 
 She looked at him, waiting for him to speak. 
 
 "I didn't come for Peggy only," he said ; "I came 
 for you. I want you for my wife." 
 
 She sat still and silent as if his words gave her pause : 
 but when he put his arm round her she drew a long sigh- 
 ing breath and looked at him again. 
 
 "Are you saying this for Peggy's sake or for mine 
 or for your own?" she questioned him, but he only an- 
 swered her by taking her more closely in his arms. 
 
 "If you come to me will it be for Peggy's sake or for
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 291 
 
 my own?" he countered, and had to be content with 
 her smile. 
 
 "Why did you run away from me?" he said soon. 
 "Didn't you guess what was in my mind? Didn't you 
 know your own?" 
 
 "I didn't know my own: and I didn't know yours. 
 That day at San Gimtgnano you took me by surprise, 
 and I've thought about you ever since. But I under- 
 stood that you were going to England. You said so. 
 I would not let myself believe. . . ." 
 
 "But you believe now?" 
 
 "I told myself ... I tried to make myself think that 
 I never wanted to see you again . . . and to-night when 
 you appeared I still felt all ways . . . afraid . . . glad 
 . . . sorry . . . because of Peggy." 
 
 "There comes Peggy !" said Victor, and in the moon- 
 light they saw the child come round the corner and 
 approach them. 
 
 "I left her in bed," cried Daphne, and Victor saw that 
 Peggy had only thrown a dressing-gown over^ her night 
 attire. When she saw him she gave a cry of delight and 
 flung herself upon him. 
 
 "You are the most forward young woman I've ever 
 met," he told her as soon as he could speak. "You 
 take my breath away. Now if your mother would do 
 that. . . ." 
 
 "It isn't likely," said Peggy. 
 
 "Why isn't it likely? What do you know about it?" 
 
 "Her one idea is to get away from you. I'm always 
 glad to see you, but she never is." 
 
 "Peggy, be quiet," said Daphne. 
 
 "Well, you pulled me away from the window this 
 morning when you saw him," narrated Peggy; "and 
 you turned first red and then white and you cried. I 
 believe you're afraid of him. You needn't be really. 
 He's very kind."
 
 292 LAW AND OUTLAW 
 
 "Oh, is he!" cried Victor. "You wait, young woman, 
 and see if I'm kind when you get out of bed and take 
 moonlight walks in half-dress. This is the second 
 time. . . ." 
 
 "Last time you carried me home," said Peggy, rubbing 
 her cheek against his. "But I've shoes on to-night." 
 
 "You are very naughty, Peggy," said Daphne. "How 
 did you know which way I had taken?" 
 
 "I watched you from the window and I saw a man 
 follow you, so I thought I'd better come and see. I 
 knew you, but I couldn't make out who the man was, 
 and it might have been a brigand." 
 
 "If it had been, what did you propose to do?" asked 
 Victor. 
 
 "To stay with Mummy," said Peggy. 
 
 "Even if the brigand took her to his cave?" 
 
 "I suppose so." 
 
 "He might not have wanted you both." 
 
 "Well, it was you, luckily," said Peggy, after con- 
 sidering in vain how to solve such a problem. 
 
 "Shall we tell her?" said Victor, turning to Daphne. 
 
 "Is it something nice?" cried Peggy. "I expect it is. 
 Nice things always happen when you come. Are you 
 going to take us with you in a car again?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Where to?" 
 
 "Back to Siena first, I think," said Victor, turning to 
 Daphne for approval, "and then probably to Rome or 
 Florence when the necessary formalities " 
 
 "We are going to be married," said Daphne. 
 
 "What a good idea !" said Peggy. 
 
 "It is rather, isn't it?" said Victor. "Saves a lot of 
 trouble. No more running away, I hope." 
 
 "Shall you live in Mummy's house or will she live in 
 yours ?" 
 
 "Which do you advise?"
 
 LAW AND OUTLAW 293 
 
 "Now he's laughing at me, Mummy. I expect hell 
 laugh at both of us. But you needn't mind. I believe 
 you'll like him." 
 
 "I believe I shall," said Daphne. 
 
 THE END
 
 A 000 040 778 3