“Cissy, you know I wasn’t thinking of that,” interrupted Marion; “I know you are rather short of money yourself, just now.” “Indeed, I am,” said Cissy dolefully; “but now, May dear, you must go to bed and try to sleep. I promise you I’ll cudgel my brains well, and we’ll see by to-morrow if we cannot somehow or other help poor Harry out of his scrape.” With which rather vague consolation, Marion, for the present had to be satisfied. And with an affectionate “good night,” the cousins separated. CHAPTER III. BLUE SKIES “To me the meanest flower that blows can give Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.” WORDSWORTH. “They order,” said I, “these things better in France.” STERNE. THE next morning was bright and sunny. Marion woke early, feeling, thanks to her eighteen years, perfectly rested and refreshed. Under these circumstances too, as might be expected, her spirits were considerably better than they had been the previous night, when she cried herself to sleep in her fatigue and distress. She lay quietly for a few minutes, hazily glancing round at the quaint little room, exquisitely clean and fresh, certainly, for Madame Poulin was a model housewife, but looking somewhat bare to Marion’s thoroughly English eyes. Still, the very strangeness was pleasant, and the sunshine pouring in through the uncurtained window, was bright enough to fill even this plain little room with light and beauty. Feeling buoyant and cheerful, Marion sprang up, and was nearly dressed, when a small tap at the door, and the request, “May I tum in?” announced the presence of Master Charlie. His tidings were not of the cheeriest.