Gracie clung to her, sobbing passionately.  Mr. Lorimer lingered in the doorway.

“Will you go, please?” said Avery, tight-lipped and rigid, the child clasped to her throbbing heart.

It was a definite command, spoken in a tone that almost compelled compliance, and Mr. Lorimer lingered no more.

Then for one long minute Avery sat and rocked the poor little tortured body in her arms.

At length, through Gracie’s sobs, she spoke.  “Gracie darling, I’m going to ask you to do something big for me.”

“Yes?” sobbed Gracie, clinging tightly round her neck.

“Leave off crying!” Avery said.  “Please leave off crying, darling, and be your own brave self!”

“I can’t,” cried Gracie.

“But do try, darling!” Avery urged her softly.  “Because, you see, I can’t leave you like this, and your poor little mother wants me so badly.  She is ill, Gracie, and I ought to go to her, but I can’t while you are crying so.”

Thus adjured, Gracie made gallant efforts to check herself.  But her spirit was temporarily quite broken.  She stood passively with the tears running down her face while Avery hastily dressed her again and set her rumpled hair to rights.  Then again for a few seconds they held each other very tightly.

“Bless you, my own brave darling!” Avery whispered.

To which Gracie made tearful reply:  “Whatever should we do without you, dear—­dear Avery?”

“And you won’t cry any more?” pleaded Avery, who was nearer to tears herself than she dared have owned.

“No,” said Gracie valiantly.

She began to dry her eyes with vigour—­a hopeful sign; and after pressing upon Avery another damp kiss was even able to muster a smile.

“Now you can do something to help me,” said Avery.  “Give yourself five minutes—­here’s my watch to go by!” She slipped it off her own wrist and on to Gracie’s.  “Then run up to the nursery and see after the children while Nurse is downstairs!  And drink a cup of milk, dearie!  Mind you do, for you’ve had nothing yet.”

“I shall love to wear your watch,” murmured Gracie, beginning to be comforted.

“I know you’ll take care of it,” Avery said, with a loving hand on the child’s hair.  “Now you’ll be all right, will you?  I can leave you without worrying?”

Grade gave her face a final polish, and nodded.  Spent and sore though she was, her spirit was beginning to revive.  “Is Mother really ill?” she asked, as Avery turned to go.

“I don’t know, dear.  I’m rather anxious about her,” said Avery.

“It’s all Father’s fault,” said Gracie.

Avery was silent.  She could not contradict the statement.

As she reached the door, Gracie spoke again, but more to herself than to Avery.  “I hope—­when he dies—­he’ll go to hell and stay there for ever and ever and ever!”

“Oh, Gracie!” Avery stopped, genuinely shocked.  “How wrong!” she said.