When Azim Bey returned that night from the ceremony of the investiture, he was surprised to find his courtyard almost in darkness. Going into the schoolroom, he found that the only light came from the glowing charcoal in the brazier, beside which Cecil was crouching, still in her riding-habit. The wind had risen again, and was howling round the house and in the beams of the roof, and the whole scene was one of desolation. “Are you ill, mademoiselle?” asked Azim Bey, in the most natural tone he could devise, while one of the negresses followed him in, carrying a torch, which shed a flickering light on the darkness. Cecil said nothing, but looked up at him with eyes of such sadness that they haunted him in spite of his efforts to banish the impression. “I do not understand you, mademoiselle,” he said, unblushingly, in reply to her unspoken reproof. “You have driven Dr Egerton away,” she said. “I ask your pardon, mademoiselle. How was I to know that you had any special interest in the English doctor?” “But you did know,” said Cecil, wearily. She had not spirit to contend with her pupil that night. “But, mademoiselle, that is impossible. You have never told me; you would not even let me approach the subject. How was I to know?” “How can I tell?” asked Cecil. “I feel sure that you did know, and that all this is your doing. Well, Bey, you have won the victory; I hope you enjoy it. Good-night.” And he saw her no more that evening. CHAPTER XX. INTERCEPTED LETTERS. In her own room that night, Cecil, in the first strength of her grief and desolation, took a solemn resolution never on any account to mention Charlie to Azim Bey again. He was jealous of him--well, he should have no more cause to be so. So far as her intercourse with her pupil went, all should be as though Charlie had never existed. In view of the armed neutrality which had hitherto subsisted between them on this subject, it was not, perhaps, quite clear in what way she could do more than she had already done, but it soothed her feelings to make these resolutions. She would never allude to her engagement in conversation with Azim Bey again, no, not if she were dying for a sight of Charlie. Even though all that had happened was to be ascribed to his malevolent interposition, she would never degrade herself and Charlie so far as to seek his help in setting things right, nor yet to recur to the part he had played in the events which had just occurred. After all, she had come to Baghdad to teach Azim Bey, and not to find a husband for herself, and it might be that her pupil considered himself justified in objecting to her interesting herself in such extraneous matters. At any rate, he should not have to complain of this again. She would devote herself more earnestly than ever to his education, but he should never be so far honoured as to have Charlie’s name mentioned in his hearing.