“Leave as much as possible to me, Cissy, dear. I have said my goodbyes, and am now free to work. You have to be ready for Lady Severn, you know. The Berwicks, and others, we cannot attempt. You might ask Lady Severn to explain to them and any one else the reason of our sudden flight. One thing, Cissy, will you do to oblige me? Give Lady Severn your address at Cheltenham. It is possible there may be some message to send us through her. I did not like to ask the children to write, but perhaps they may think of it.” “I don’t suppose any one will help them to do so, poor little things, even if they wish it,” replied Mrs. Archer. “However, I can easily give her the address.” She did so when Lady Severn and Miss Vyse called to as goodbye. Lady Severn took the card on which it was written, and after glancing at it, handed it to Florence, when they reseated themselves in the carriage. “You keep it, Florence, dear,” she said; “you have all my addresses. Though, indeed, I shall not forget it. I have a capital head for addresses—23, West Parade, Leamington. Yes. 23, West Parade.” And after a week’s bustle crowded into a few hours, the little party set off again on their travels. Just the three, Mrs. Archer, Marion, and Charlie, for poor Thérèse had to be left behind. Mr. Chepstow sent two carriages to convey them to the place from which the diligence started, and was there himself to see them off. He was “really very kind,” they all agreed. But it was sad, this sudden, hurried departure from the place they had come to know so well. Hardly sad for Cissy, perhaps; her thoughts were far away eastward, and she only lived in the hope of soon following them thither. But for her young cousin! Ah, it was very trying. Just a few short, days before “he” would be back again, when all, she had hoped, would have been explained between them. She had no hope of meeting him in London. In all probability he would have left before their arrival, and even if not, the chances of their meeting were of the most remote. She did not know his address, and he!—he neither knew of her coming, nor, should he even hear it from his mother, would he have the slightest notion where to seek her. No, she must trust that he would write, as, she felt satisfied he would be sure to do without delay, if he had anything good to tell. In any case, indeed, she thought, considering the circumstances, he would write. He was so thoughtful and considerate, and must have a fair notion of the suspense she was enduring.