We hastened back to the bed-chamber, but there was no apparent change in our patient. She still lay on her side, staring into vacancy and occasionally moaning in a low tone to herself. I felt her head and hands; they were burning hot, and her lips had become dry and cracked. There was no doubt of it—Ange was in a raging fever, and every hour we became more alarmed. ‘What a mistake it is to live such a distance from a doctor!’ I exclaimed impatiently, as the evening drew on. ‘I wish I had gone into Artois myself by the diligence this afternoon, or sent Charlie Sandilands, and got Monsieur Perrin to ride over to-night. Is there no help nearer at hand, Tessie? Cannot the _petites sœurs_ administer medicines on an emergency?’ ‘I never heard of their doing so, Hilda. Monsieur Perrin is their hospital surgeon. If it were not for the convent, I don’t think we should get him in St. Pucelle at all.’ ‘Just listen to her moans!’ I said, in despair. ‘Do ask Madame Marmoret to bring up another pitcher of spring water, Tessie. We must keep wet bandages round her head continually. I know of nothing better to do.’ With dinner-time came home Cave Charteris from shooting, and hearing the state of affairs upstairs from Madame Marmoret, he asked to speak to me. One may fancy the blazing eyes with which I went to meet him. ‘What do you want?’ I demanded brusquely, as I entered the little _salle_. ‘Only to hear how much of this sad account that Madame has given me is true. Is it really the case that Mr. Lovett has gone to Rille, and Ange is so ill she can see nobody?’ ‘Certainly, she can see nobody. She is in a strong fever, and confined to her bed. Have you anything more to say?’ ‘Yes! That I am not aware what I have done that you should speak to me in such an uncourteous manner!’ ‘Are you not? Then you must have a tougher conscience than even I gave you credit for.’ ‘What do you mean, Miss Marsh?’ he inquired. ‘You appear to resent my taking an ordinary interest in Miss Lovett’s health. If you knew all, you would see that——’ ‘I _do_ know all!’ I interrupted him sternly, ‘and a great deal more than you have any idea of. I know that you are a married man, and that you had much better be at home with your wife and children than affecting this interest in a girl who can never be anything to you _again_.’ I put in _again_, that he might see we had already guessed something of his philandering with poor Ange. ‘Has _she_ heard of this?’ he asked me quickly, with the colour flaming in his face. ‘What is that to you?’ I replied angrily; ‘if you are an honest man, why should you be ashamed to tell the world that you are a married one? I refuse to inform you if Ange has heard the truth or not, but you may rest assured that she will not hear it from you. Her father will be home to-morrow, and the first thing I shall do will be to caution him to protect the interests of his daughter!’