Cecily tried to get up and go to her aunt's assistance but something seemed to hold her down in her chair. 'Please go away,' she heard herself say, quite politely, but with considerable urgency. 'How can my aunt's headache get better as long as you sit there? Besides, your little charge is much in need of you!' But the angelic visitor made no response, and she noticed, with dismay, that he wore on his chubby little face the look of intelligent obstinacy so often seen on the faces of very young children. Again she said: 'Please go away. You are really not wanted here'--as a concession she added, 'any more!' But he only flapped his little wings defiantly, and seemed to settle down among the warm folds of Miss Theresa's shawl as if arranging for a long stay. Cecily was in despair; and she began to think that everything was strangely topsy-turvy. 'Perhaps,' she said to herself, 'he only understands Irish, so I'll try him with French!' and, speaking the language, to her so dear, which lends itself so singularly well to courteous entreaty, she again begged her aunt's strange guest to take his departure, pointing out that his mission was indeed fulfilled, and there were reasons, imperative reasons, why he should go away. Then, to her dismay, the little angel's eyes filled with tears, and at last he spoke impetuously: 'Mais oui, j'ai de quoi!' he cried angrily in an eager childish treble. Cecily felt herself blush as she answered hurriedly, soothingly: 'Mais, petit ange, mon cher petit ange, je ne dis pas le contraire!' and she had hardly time to add to herself, 'Then he _was_ Irish, after all,' when the blinds, which were drawn down, all flapped together, although, as Cecily often assured herself afterwards, there was absolutely no wind, and the girl, rubbing her eyes, once more saw the white shawl as usual crossed over primly on her aunt's chest, while Miss Theresa Wake, opening her eyes, suddenly exclaimed: 'Is that you, my dear? I have not been asleep exactly, but I now feel much better and less oppressed than I did a few moments ago.' Cecily never told her curious experience, but a day came when the dearest of all voices in the world asked imperiously: 'Mammy, do angels ever come and talk to people? I mean to usual people, not to saints and martyrs. Of course, I _know_, they do to _them_.' And Cecily answered, very soberly: 'I think they do sometimes, my Ludovic, for an angel once came and talked to me.' But not even to this questioner did she reveal what the angelic visitant had said to her. CHAPTER VIII L'amour est de toutes les passions la plus forte, parce qu'elle attaque à la fois la tête, le coeur et le corps. I