And Pete went on with: "There hasn't been anyone asking about you,
but--so much the better for us. You're safe here, and comfortable,
aren't you? And--Hugh, _you_ tell her what it means to us to have
her here."

It was more of a speech than he had made since Sylvie's arrival, and
it was not just the speech, in tone or manner, of a fourteen-year-old
boy. There was a new somber note in his voice, too--some of the
youthful quality had gone out of it. Sylvie took a step toward him,
to thank him, perhaps, perhaps to satisfy, by laying her hand upon
him, a sudden bewilderment; but in her blindness she stumbled on the
edge of the hearth, and to save her from falling, Pete caught her
in his arms. For an instant he held her close, held her fiercely,
closer and more fiercely than he knew, and Sylvie felt the strength
of him and heard the pounding of his heart. Then Hugh plucked her
away with a smothered oath. He put her into a chair, crushed her hand
in one of his, and turned upon Bella.

"Go back into the kitchen," he ordered brutally; "trapping's not your
business. You mind your cooking."

"Be careful, Hugh!" Bella's whisper whistled like a falling lash,
"I'll not stand that tone from you. Be careful!"

"Oh," pleaded Sylvie, "why do you all quarrel so? Off here by
yourselves with nobody else to care, I'd think you would just love
each other. I love you all--yes, I do, even you, Bella, though I know
you hate _me_. Bella, _why_ do you hate me? Why does it make you so
angry to have me here? Does it make your work so much harder? I'll