Exhausted by all she had gone through, the poor child soon fell asleep. Marion returned for a moment to set Sir Ralph’s mind at ease about his little niece, and to bid him good-night. He only detained her to request her not to come to the Rue des Lauriers in the morning, as he would explain her absence to Lady Severn. He also promised to call early, to see how Sybil had passed the night, and to explain to Miss Freer what had come to his knowledge as to the cause of the child’s terror and consequent illness. “That Emilie shall leave my mother’s service at once,” he said “if I am to have any authority at all over my nieces. But by the morning I shall be able to explain the whole affair better. I am not quite clear how much was Emilie’s doing, and how much the result of pour Sybil’s own nervousness. The poor child tried to tell me all about it, but could hardly manage to do so clearly, in the state she was in.” “You may be sure I shall take good care of her,” said Marion, as he was leaving. “I know that well,” he replied. “But that reminds me,” he went on, “I have never thanked you for it all. What a boor I am! In the first place your goodness in writing to me, and now for your goodness in taking my poor child in, as you have done. I am so stupid, Miss Freer, at thanking people. But you know what I mean, I am sure you do. Something more I would ask of you. Miss Freer, can you forgive me for having forgotten myself as I did last night?” The last words he spoke very low, as if he could hardly force himself to utter them. Marion did not speak for a moment, and he went on. “You must think me mad—mad with presumption and folly, as indeed I think myself. I thought I had mastered myself, Miss Freer, knowing all I do, both to myself, and you. You, I trust, will be very happy in the life you have chosen—much happier than if—ah! I must take care or I shall have to ask you to forgive me again. Can you do so, Miss Freer—Marion?” he added softly, as if in spite of himself. And Marion looked up in his face, and said the one little word, “Yes.” He wrung her hand and left her. And she laid herself down beside the innocent little child he had given into her care, and tried to sleep. But in vain! All night long she tossed about, imagining herself kept awake by her anxiety about Sybil, but in reality going over and over to herself his words, his looks, his tones. And wondering why he behaved so strangely, and how it would all end? CHAPTER XI. THE LAST AFTERNOON ON THE TERRACE “O Erd, O Sonne! O Glück, O Lust! O Lieb. O Liebe! So golden Schön Wie Morganwolken Auf jenen Höhn.” GÖTHE.