The Bars of Iron. Ethel M. Dell

      "I think she is boiling her kettle now," Avery answered.

      Piers grunted. He fidgeted to the window and back, and then, finding Jeanie's eyes still mutely watching him, he pulled up a chair to her side and took the slender hand again into his own.

      Avery turned her attention to coaxing the fire to burn, and presently went out to Mrs. Marshall in her kitchen to offer her services there. She was graciously permitted to cut some bread and butter while the old woman prepared a tray.

      "I suppose it was Master Piers' fault," the latter remarked with severity. "He's always up to some mischief or other."

      Avery hastened to assure her that upon this occasion Piers was absolutely blameless and had been of the utmost assistance to them.

      "I'm very glad to hear it," said Mrs. Marshall. "He's a feckless young gentleman, and I often think as he's like to bring the old master's hairs with sorrow to the grave. Sir Beverley do set such store by him, always did from the day he brought him back from his dead mother in Paris, along with that French valet who carried him like as if he'd been a parcel of goods. He's been brought up by men from his cradle, miss, and it hasn't done him any good. But there! Sir Beverley is that set against all womenkind there's no moving him."

      Mrs. Marshall was beginning to expand—a mark of high favour which she bestowed only upon the few.

      Avery listened with respect, comfortably aware that by this simple means she was creating a good impression. She was anxious to win the old dame to a benevolent frame of mind if possible, since to be thrown upon unwilling hospitality was the last thing she desired.

      It was characteristic of her that she achieved her purpose. When she returned to the parlour in Mrs. Marshall's wake, she had completely won her hostess's heart, a fact which Piers remarked on the instant.

      "There's magic in you," he said to Avery, as she gave him his cup of tea.

      "I prefer to call it common sense," she answered.

      She turned her attention at once to Jeanie, coaxing her to drink the tea though her utmost persuasion could not induce her to eat anything. She was evidently suffering a good deal of pain, but she begged them not to trouble about her. "Please have your tea, Aunt Avery! I shall be quite all right."

      "Yes, Aunt Avery must certainly have some tea," said Piers with determination, and he refused to touch his own until she had done so.

      It was a relief to all three of them when the doctor's dogcart was heard on the drive. Avery rose at once and went to receive him.

      Piers stretched a kindly arm behind the cushion that supported Jeanie's head. "Do you really want me to stay with you, little girl?" he asked.

      Jeanie was very white, but she looked at him bravely. "Do you mind?" she said.

      His dark eyes smiled encouragement. "No, of course I don't mind if I can be of any use to you. Tudor will probably want to kick me out, but if you have the smallest desire to keep me, I'll stay."

      "You are kind," said Jeanie very earnestly. "I think it will help me to be brave if I may hold your hand. You have such a strong hand."

      "It is entirely at your service," said Piers.

      He turned in his chair at the doctor's entrance, without rising. His attitude was decidedly dogged. He looked as if he anticipated a struggle.

      Dr. Tudor came in behind Avery. He was a man of forty, curt of speech and short of temper, with eyes that gleamed shrewdly behind gold pince-nez. He gave Piers a look that was conspicuously lacking in cordiality.

      "Hullo!" he said. "You here!"

      "Yes, I'm here," said Piers.

      The doctor's eyes passed him and went straight to the white face of the child on the sofa. He advanced and bent over her.

      "So you've had an accident, eh?" he said.

      "Yes," whispered Jeanie, pressing a little closer to Piers.

      "What happened?"

      "I think it was a rabbit-hole," said Jeanie not very lucidly.

      "Caught your foot and fell, I suppose?" said the doctor. "Was that all?

       Did you do any walking after it?"

      "Oh no!" said Jeanie, with a shudder. "Mr. Evesham carried me."

      "I see." He was holding her wrist between his fingers. Very suddenly he looked at Piers again. "I can't have you here," he said.

      "Can't you?" said Piers. He threw back his head with an aggressive movement, but said no more.

      "Please let him stay!" said Jeanie beseechingly.

      The doctor frowned.

      In a low voice Avery intervened. "I told him he might—for the child's sake."

      Dr. Tudor turned his hawk eyes upon her. "Who are you, may I ask?"

      Piers' free hand clenched, and a sudden hot flush rose to his forehead.

       But Avery made answer before he could speak.

      "I am the mother's help at the Vicarage. My name is Denys—Mrs. Denys.

       And Jeanie is in my care. Now, will you look at the injury?"

      She smiled a little as she said it, but the decision of her speech was past disputing. Dr. Tudor regarded her piercingly for a moment or two, then without a word turned aside.

      The tension went out of Piers' attitude; he held Jeanie comfortingly close.

      At the end of a brief examination the doctor spoke. "Yes. A simple fracture. I can soon put that to rights. You can help me, Mrs. Denys."

      He went to work at once, giving occasional curt directions to Avery, while Jeanie clung convulsively to Piers, her face buried in his coat, and fought for self-control.

      It was a very plucky fight, for the ordeal was a severe one; and when it was over the poor child broke down completely in spite of all her efforts and wept upon Piers' shoulder. He soothed and consoled her with the utmost kindness. It had been something of an ordeal for him also, and with relief he turned his attention to comforting her.

      She soon grew calmer and apologized humbly for her weakness. "I don't think I could have borne it without you," she told him, with tremulous sincerity. "But I'm so dreadfully sorry to have given you all this trouble."

      "That's all right," Piers assured her. "I'm glad you found me of use."

      He dried her tears for the second time that afternoon, and then, with a somewhat obvious effort at civility, addressed the doctor.

      "I suppose it will be all right to move her now? Can we take her home in the landaulette?"

      Curtly the doctor made answer. "Very well indeed, I should say, if we lift her carefully and keep the foot straight. I'll drive you to the Abbey if you like. I'm going up to see your grandfather."

      "I don't know why you should," said Piers quickly. "There's nothing the matter with him."

      Dr. Tudor made no reply. "Are you coming?" he asked.

      "No, thanks." There was latent triumph in Piers' response. "If you are going up, you can give the order for the landaulette, and tell my grandfather I am staying to see Miss Lorimer safely home."

      Dr. Tudor grunted and turned away, frowning.

      "Well, so long!" he said to Jeanie. "I'll look in on my way back, and lend a hand with moving you. But you will be all right now if you do as you're told."

      "Thank you," said Jeanie meekly.

      He went out with Avery, and the door closed behind them.

      Jeanie stole a glance at Piers who was looking decidedly grim.

      "Yes," he said in answer. "I detest him, and he knows it."