Most houses may be judged by their windows, but these material windows are not always true gauge of what is within.  They may be decked to deceive, but the clear windows of the soul admit of no disguise.  That little life tenant is always looking out and showing himself in his true colours—­whether he knows it or not.

Nance’s terrified scream took old Tom out at a bound.  He had heard the quick rush of her feet and Tom’s mocking laughter in the distance.  He carried Nance in to her mother, snatched up a stick, and went after the culprit who had promptly disappeared.

It was two days before Tom sneaked in again and took his thrashing dourly.  Little Nance had shut her lips tight when her father questioned her, and refused to say a word.  But he was satisfied as to where the blame lay and administered justice with a heavy hand.

Bernel—­as soon as he grew to persecutable age—­provided Tom with another victim.  But time was on the victims’ side, and when Nance got to be twelve—­Bernel being then eight and Tom eighteen—­their combined energies and furies of revolt against his oppressions put matters more on a level.

Many a pitched battle they had, and sometimes almost won.  But, win or lose, the fact that they had no longer to suffer without lifting a hand was great gain to them, and the very fact that they had to go about together for mutual protection knitted still stronger the ties that bound them one to the other.

But, though little Nance’s earlier years suffered much from the black shadow of brother Tom, they were very far from being years of darkness.

She was of an unusually bright and enquiring disposition, always wanting to see and know and understand, interested in everything about her, and never satisfied till she had got to the bottom of things, or at all events as far down as it was possible for a small girl to get.

Her lively chatter and ceaseless questions left her mother and Grannie small chance of stagnation.  But, if she asked many questions—­and some of them posers—­it was not simply for the sake of asking, but because she truly wanted to know; and even Grannie, who was not naturally talkative, never resented her pertinent enquiries, but gave freely of her accumulated wisdom and enjoyed herself in the giving.

When she got beyond their depth at times, or outside their limits, she would boldly carry her queries—­and strange ones they were at times—­to old Mr. Cachemaille, the Vicar up in Sark, making nothing of the journey and the Coupee in order to solve some, to her, important problem.  And he not only never refused her but delighted to open to her the stores of a well-stocked mind and of the kindest and gentlest of hearts.

Often and often the people of Vauroque and Plaisance would see them pass, hand in hand and full of talk, when the Vicar had wished to see with his own eyes one or other of Nance’s wonderful discoveries, in the shape of cave or rock-pool, or deposit of sparkling crystal fingers—­amethyst and topaz—­or what not.