SON OF THE WIND
was in case Ferrier should see fit to talk while he was away. And then suppose anything should happen to himself. He knew of course nothing ever did, but a man had to consider it.
"What is the matter? Is something wrong?" Blanche's voice was anxious. Evidently she was unsuspicious of anything threatening her mother's peace of mind, and it was as well that she should be. It would be better to keep her quiet, yes, as quiet as possible, where Ferrier was concerned.
"Nothing is wrong, but suppose your mother had heard of this from some one before she heard it from you. It would have hurt her." He was righteous and austere, and Blanche was impressed. "As soon as you can, tell her about it," he said. He understood from her humility that this time she would, without any doubt. He was beginning to get control of the situation, to gather it together under him, tightening all the reins in his hands. "And there is something else I want you to promise me. You won't like it, but I want you to do it."
They had come to the end of the passage to the little hall of many doors and the single stair.
"Yes?" she stood looking up at him questioningly, languidly. Blue shadows were beneath her eyes. The cheek below the temple looked hollow. Poor child! It showed him eloquently how right he was.
324
