It was a cold night, and sleep in the circumstances was out of the question. He walked up and down and sat down to rest upon the flat stone alternately until dawn came. A long, weary night it was undoubtedly. Yet through it all he never lost for more than a few moments at a time the feeling that Claire was near at hand, that when daylight came he should find her. The dwellers in the cottages outside the ruin were early astir, and one or two perceived Bram, and came up to the railings to look at him. But as none of them seemed to feel that his intrusion was any business of theirs he was left alone until the light was strong enough for him to renew his search. Then, not within the walls of the church itself, but in the refectory, which was choked up and encumbered with broken stones and rubbish which had made search difficult in the night, he found her. There was a little stone gallery, with a broken stone staircase leading up to it, at one end of the refectory. And here crouched in a corner, fast asleep, with her head against the stone wall, was Claire. Her small face looked pinched and gray with the cold. He took off his overcoat and covered her with it very gently. But soft as his touch was she awoke, stared at him for a moment as if she scarcely knew him, and then sprang to her feet. She was so stiff and cramped and chilled that she staggered. Bram caught her arm, but she wrenched herself away with a sound like a sob, and in her eyes there came a fear, a shame so deep, so terrible, that Bram looked away from her, unable to meet it with his own mournful eyes. “Why did you run away from me?” asked he, so kindly, with such a brave affectation of rough cheerfulness that the tears came rushing into the girl’s eyes. “You might have known I didn’t want to do you any harm, mightn’t you? I only wish I’d brought you some better news than I do.” [Illustration: He took off his overcoat and covered her with it very gently.--_Page 156._] He was looking away, through the tall, pointed arches, at the leafless trees beyond. He heard her draw a long breath. Then she asked, in a very low voice:-- “What news, then?” “Your father wants you back. He’s very ill--very ill. He’s had an accident, and burnt his head and one of his hands badly. You’ve got to come back and nurse him; he doesn’t mind what anybody says, and he does foolish and rash things that only you can save him from. You’ll come back, won’t you?” There was a pause. Bram looked at her, and she bowed her head in silent assent. She would not meet his eyes; she hung her head, and he saw that she was crying. “We’d better make haste and get back to Chelmsley,” said he in a robust voice. “I forgot to look out a train; or rather I had hoped to have taken you back last night. But you gave me the slip; I can’t think why. You’ve got nothing but a cold night and perhaps a bad cough by your freak.”