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Felix stroked his shoulder. "Go up-stairs, old man. Kirsteen's anxious." Tod sat down and took his boots off. "I can't understand," he said once more. Then, without another word, or even a look at Felix, he went out and up the stairs. And Felix thought: 'Poor Kirsteen! Ah, well they're all about as queer, one as the other! How to get Nedda out of it?
But Frances Freeland, bending forward, fixed her eyes piercingly on Kirsteen's neck, as if she were noticing something there more important than that about tyranny! Then John said very gravely: "You seem to think that we approve of such things being done to the helpless!" "I know that you disapprove."
Sheila's description of her night in a cell had made her shiver with horror. But there was a spirit in Nedda that went through with things; and she started early the next day, refusing Kirsteen's proffered company.
In Tod's and Kirsteen's room she found a little table and a pillow, and something that might do, and having devised a contrivance by which this went into that and that into this and nothing whatever showed, she conveyed the whole very quietly up near dear Derek's room, and told darling Nedda to go down-stairs and look for something that she knew she would not find, for she could not think at the moment of any better excuse.
The word came from John. "Certainly! Kirsteen's a woman of great character; revolutionary by temperament. Why should you expect her to act as you would act yourselves?" When Felix had said that, there was a silence. Then Stanley muttered: "Poor old Tod!" Felix sighed, lost for a moment in his last vision of his youngest brother.
"He knows that." "I wish he wouldn't, Mother. I can't be more sorry than I have been." Kirsteen's face quivered. "My dear, it will go quite soon. Love Nedda! See! She wants you!" Derek answered in the same quiet voice: "Yes, Nedda is the comfort. Mother, I want to go away away out of England right away." Nedda rushed and flung her arms round him. "I, too, Derek; I, too!"
He lay quite still, his clothes covered with mud. Terrified, Nedda plucked at Kirsteen's sleeve. "What is it?" "Concussion!" The stillness of that blue-clothed figure, so calm beside her, gave her strength to say quietly: "Put him in my room, Aunt Kirsteen; there's more air there!"
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