‘Yes! to shoot or to fish or to do anything he liked, but he couldn’t get rooms in the hotel——’ ‘Well, he could have got rooms, Ange, but they were not so nice as he desired——’ ‘Anyway, papa asked him to come and stay with us—but he wouldn’t hear of it——’ ‘Knowing that we are not rich, you understand, Hilda——’ ‘But he said if papa would let him board with us, he would come for three months certain——’ ‘And perhaps longer, as he may stay over the winter——’ ‘If he likes the shooting he will: and he is going to pay us such a lot of money——’ ‘Hush, Ange! I don’t think papa would like you to tell that part of it.’ ‘Why not? He couldn’t come here without he did pay—and papa would not have accepted his offer if it had been too much.’ ‘Certainly not! still I think it would be fairer to him, as well as papa, to let that matter rest between themselves.’ ‘You are quite right, Tessie,’ I interposed, ‘and I would rather not hear any more about the financial part of the arrangement.’ ‘Of course it is a good thing for us any way, Hilda. You will understand that; and we hope it will be agreeable, too. That is why we have all looked so pleased the last few days.’ ‘It _must_ be agreeable,’ said Ange, with a heightened colour, ‘because papa says it will. And we thought he wouldn’t come till next week, until the letter arrived for papa this morning, and——’ ‘Hullo, hullo! Who is that taking my name in vain?’ exclaimed Mr. Lovett, from the open doorway; and Ange leapt off my lap as if she had been shot, and we all three rose to our feet to receive the expected stranger. I saw Tessie move forward first, and heard her utter a few shy words of welcome, but Ange had to be dragged to the front by her father, before she could be induced to contribute her share to our hospitable greeting. Then Mr. Lovett mentioned my name as that of his adopted daughter, Hilda Marsh, and I left the vine-covered embrasure of the window in which I had hitherto concealed myself, to encounter—_Cave Charteris_! [Illustration: [Fleuron]] CHAPTER IV. THE DENOUEMENT. I am quite unable to remember what I said, or did, in the first shock of meeting him again. His presence in St. Pucelle was so utterly sudden and unexpected to me, that I should not have felt greater surprise if my dead mother had stood before me; and I do not think that, for the first few minutes, I at all believed or realised that I was face to face with the man who had embittered so large a portion of my life. I suppose I said something, and held out my hand to him, because he seized it eagerly, and appeared delighted at the recognition. ‘_Hilda!_ Miss Marsh! Is it possible! Who on earth would ever have dreamed of meeting you here?’ The astonishment of my friends at his evident knowledge of me, luckily prevented my having any occasion to answer his remark.