When Sheila had propounded her astonishing plan the warm colour had suffused Meg's face and neck, which her companion had interpreted to mean extreme pleasure; but it was fear, more than anything else; fear, lest her plan of finding Bostock should be frustrated, and fear lest she should lose her freedom. At the same time she was conscious of the extreme kindness of the proposal, which made the difficulty of refusing the offer ten times worse. After such kindness showered upon her, how could she refuse? So great was her perplexity that the idea of running away when strong enough crossed her mind, but was banished almost as soon as thought of, as the girl was no coward. While Sheila was discussing her plan with Miss Gregson at the dinner table, Meg lay thinking, in great distress of mind. She sat up in bed panting at the very idea of living within four walls instead of under the blue sky and shining stars. When Sheila, full of spirits and satisfaction at having given Miss Gregson a shock of surprise, ran upstairs, she found her patient leaning out of the window. "Meg! Meg! what are you doing? You were not to get up the doctor said till to-morrow. Get back to bed again." Meg panted. "I want the air," she said. "I want to lie under the stars again. I ain't used to walls, Miss, they fairly choke me. Let me sleep under the sky to-night." "Indeed you will do no such thing," said Sheila authoritatively, conscious of her superiority of age, "I want you to get well as soon as ever you can." Meg turned round after giving a hungry look at the sky. She knew it would be ungrateful to do anything but obey. But her eyes were sad. Sheila tucked her up again and then sat down on the bed. "To-morrow," she said, "we'll have such fun. The doctor will let you get up and you shall wear one of my pretty dresses, and Elsie shall do up your hair like mine is done. Then I shall take you into the garden and show you what your new home is like." "The garden is lovely, ain't it?" said Meg, trying to appear interested. "Yes, quite lovely. But you must not say 'ain't it', Meg. You are to be my sister you know, and will have to try and talk like I do. We never say 'ain't it.' "I think I'd best be gone," murmured Meg. "That I'm quite determined about," said Sheila. "I'll give you lessons every day and explain just what you may say and may not say, and you'll pick it up very quickly. Your tone of voice is quite sweet. It's only just your expressions that need altering. Your voice is musical you know. I expect it is because you sing. I want to hear you sing so much." Meg turned her face away and tears trickled down her cheeks. She felt desperately lonely. If only Jem knew where she was! Every word that Sheila uttered seemed to make her feel more lonely, though she was aware that her hostess meant to be kind. "I want to lie under the stars," she murmured. "You are much better in this comfortable bed," said Sheila.