It was lighted only by the moon, which threw a flood of radiance through the wide-flung windows. Every object in the room stood out in strong relief. Standing motionless in the doorway, Trevor Mordaunt sought and found his wife.
She was lying with her face to the moonlight, her hair streaming loose, the bedclothes pushed off her shoulders.
And there beside her, curled up in a big easy-chair, his black head lodged against her pillow, one hand clasped close in hers, lay Noel. Both had been crying, both were asleep.
For many seconds Mordaunt stood upon the threshold, gravely watching them, but he made no movement to draw nearer. At last noiselessly he withdrew, and closed the door.
The grimness had all gone from his face. He even smiled a little as he resigned himself to spending the night in his own room. The idea of disturbing the brother and sister never crossed his mind. It was enough for him that Chris had found comfort.
CHAPTER VI
A BARGAIN
"Luck!" said Rupert gloomily. "There never is any where I am concerned."
This in response to a question from his brother-in-law as to the general progress of his affairs. He sat in Mordaunt's writing-room, with one of Mordaunt's cigars between his lips, and a decidedly sullen expression on his good-looking face.
"I'm sick of everything," he declared. "I'm going to chuck the Army. It's never done anything for me. There's no chance of active service, and I loathe garrison work."