Peter's face was very grave. It was all very well, he said to himself to read of these things in the papers, but the thought of Mrs. Uniacke—that delicate, frail little creature—in a prison, forcibly fed! This was bringing it home with a vengeance. And a new respect seized the man. Whatever his views on the Suffrage question might be, he marvelled in his heart at the courage displayed by those thousands of women banded together to fight or die.
"She's asleep now," went on Jill—"that's been the most serious trouble—that and her heart, which is very weak. And, of course, her digestion's all to pieces—and she's suffered frightfully in her throat ... Well, we won't talk any more about it. Come down and have some tea."
They crossed the hall with bated breath, Jill's finger to her lips. As they went down the dark stairs Peter slipped a hand through her arm.
"Steady, Jill. Don't take a header ... 'Steep is the descent to' ... Tea! Here we are. Any black beetles?"
Jill shivered involuntarily.
"It's cowardly—but I hate them, Peter! Sometimes when I come down at night the floor's simply black with them. I'd far sooner find burglars!"
McTaggart's laugh steadied her nerves. He checked her in the narrow passage and lowered his voice, with a glance at Roddy beyond them, busy in the kitchen.
"Look here, Jill—now I'm back—I hope you're going to make use of me? I don't want to cut out Bethune——" he smiled, watching her thoughtful face—-"but he's busy and I'm not—I'm game for any odd job. And I want to help—awfully. You see, I came home for that."
"Did you?" The girl looked at him. Her eyes in the gloom shone like stars under their heavy curling lashes.
"Honour bright! Your letter did it. I couldn't bear to think of you in all this trouble without a man. Although I knew you'd the pluck to face it. So it's a bargain—settled between us—I'm to be a sort of handy ... brother?"