It afforded a partial relief to Cecil’s anxiety for her pupil when he was allowed, in answer to his piteous prayers, to accompany his father and the troops part of the way in their march against the chief stronghold of the insurgents. He was away for some days, and his governess employed the time in writing one of the long journal letters which kept the family at Whitcliffe regularly informed of all her doings under ordinary circumstances, but had been neglected during the exciting times of the last few weeks, which were unfavourable to epistolary composition. But it was still difficult to write, for Cecil did not dare to say a word on the subject which lay nearest her heart--that of Charlie’s present whereabouts. The alarm she had felt on his account in leaving Hillah had increased tenfold now that a considerable time had elapsed without her hearing from him, and it was in vain that she tried to comfort herself with the suggestion that the insurgents might have prevented the passage of any couriers, or that his letters might have been intercepted once more. She felt sure that if he had reached Baghdad, he would not have failed to send her some intimation of his safety through Sir Dugald, with whose letters neither Azim Bey nor the mountaineers, who cherished a deep veneration for the British name, would venture to meddle. It was evident, then, that Charlie was either still in Hillah, or was retracing his steps to Ispahan by the way he had come--if, at least, he had not been suspected and seized. The thought of this last possibility tormented Cecil day and night, and the more so that no means of solving the mystery presented themselves to her. Even if she wrote to Sir Dugald to inform him of her meeting with Charlie and of her fears respecting his safety, and inquiries were set on foot, it might have just the effect of arousing suspicion, and endangering him in his journey back to Persia or his retirement at Hillah, supposing that he had settled down there to enjoy a taste of Eastern life once more. Cecil longed wearily for some assurance that this was the case, and wished too late that she had not set her face so resolutely against her lover’s eccentricities in the past. Merely to know now that he was safe in the camp of some sheikh of the Hajar would have been the height of bliss, but it was a bliss she was not to enjoy.