‘Yes! And you know it’s such a shame, he’s been away from home now for nearly six months, and of course it’s put them out, and my dad says it’s all a pretence his being afraid of the scarlet fever. Only two had it, and they were well weeks ago, and poor Mary——’ ‘That’s his sister, isn’t it?’ I interposed. But Cave Charteris re-entered the room at that very moment, and Fred did not answer my question. I was sorry for it, for I wanted to learn something about his cousin’s family, for Ange’s sake. But he was hurried off to the château, and there was no further opportunity to exchange a word with him. He departed with many _au revoirs_, promising himself to meet us again at dinner; but when that meal was served, to our great surprise Mr. Charteris walked in alone. ‘Where is your cousin?’ we simultaneously asked him. ‘My cousin!’ he ejaculated, as if he had quite forgotten his existence. ‘What! Fred Stephenson! I’ve sent him back to school by the diligence.’ ‘Without his dinner?’ said Tessie, in a voice of pity. ‘Oh! he had an excellent lunch at the Baron’s—ate enough for two, I can assure you; and I knew if I brought him back here that he would outstay his leave. Mr. Felton is very particular about the boys being punctual, and Master Fred is _not_ particular about anything at all; and so, as I am a sort of guardian of his, responsible to his father for his good behaviour and all that sort of thing, I thought it better to take the law into my own hands and see him safely off before I sat down to dinner.’ It sounded plausible. There was no particular fault to find with the man’s anxiety to save his young cousin from getting into a scrape with his master, still, coupling it with the reception he had given the lad that morning, and the haste with which he had hurried him out of the house, I could not help suspecting that Cave Charteris had some other reason beside what he stated for trying to keep Master Fred Stephenson out of the way. [Illustration: [Fleuron]] CHAPTER VIII. ACCEPTED. ‘Why do you go up to the convent every morning, dear? It is far too long a walk for you.’ I was standing in the little _salle_, holding Ange’s hot hand in my own. Six days had elapsed since Master Fred Stephenson had appeared and so mysteriously disappeared from amongst us, and on each one of them Ange had toiled up to the Convent des Petites Sœurs, which was situated on the brow of a hill, two miles on the road to Artois, and not come back again until it was time for dinner.