What could he have said to persuade this child, who was all frank, ingenuous simplicity, that it was right to hold secret appointments with himself? And why, if his intentions towards her were what they should be, had he not at once avowed them to Mr. Lovett? He was free and independent—at liberty to choose a wife as he listed—and he could have no fear that the poverty-stricken minister would object to see one of his daughters well provided for. The more I thought of it, the more I felt persuaded that something was wrong. A terrible fear took hold of me that Ange was in similar danger to that I had passed through—perhaps worse, Heaven only knew. And when daylight dawned I had made up my mind, whatever happened, to inform my reverend guardian of what I had seen and heard. The task was anything but a pleasant one. As I have already mentioned, since the adventure of the twenty-five francs, I had had little or nothing to say to Mr. Lovett, and I saw that he regarded me with suspicion and dislike. It was for the sake of Ange alone that I conquered my aversion to enter upon any but general topics with him, and small thanks as I expected to receive in return for my moral courage, the event proved that I had over-rated the little interest he had left in me. Breakfast was over, and the moment had arrived in which to attack him. Ange, who had been looking unusually pale and languid during the meal, and had scarcely eaten anything, announced her intention of spending the morning with Jeanne Guillot, the mother of the little child that had died of fever, though I wronged the poor girl by believing that she was going to walk with Cave Charteris instead. ‘Why do you let your sister go to those infected cottages?’ I demanded, almost sharply, of Tessie; ‘you had much better keep her at home. She will catch her death there some day, and then you will be sorry.’ Tessie regarded me with mild surprise. ‘Why, Hilda, the fever is not infectious! The doctor says it is purely due to the effects of the long dry summer we have had! And where should Ange be, but amongst those who have suffered from it? The people would not know what had come to St. Pucelle if they missed _petite_ Ange from their sides when they were in trouble.’ ‘Oh! very well! Do as you choose, but don’t blame me afterwards,’ I responded curtly; for I felt very sore on the subject, and was ready to think Tessie a fool for not being more alive to the moral and physical risks which her sister ran. They all disappeared after this, and I would not inquire even where they were going. Mr. Lovett and I were left alone in the _salle_, and I might have spoken to him, perhaps, without interruption, but I wished him to attach as much importance as possible to the communication I was about to make. ‘Mr. Lovett,’ I commenced, ‘I have something of the greatest consequence to tell you. When will it be convenient for you to listen to me?’