She folded up the money and pushed the notes inside her gloves. Her whole face had changed, and to John Saxon, who watched her, it had not changed for the better. The pathos and entreaty had gone out of it. It was a hard little face once more; and again he noticed that want of candour and that inability to look any one straight in the face which he had already observed in her eyes. He wondered uneasily if he had done wrong in lending her the money; but what was he to do? She must really want it, poor little thing! and after all, to Saxon, who was accustomed to great journeys taken at a moment's notice, and who had visited America and most of the habitable globe--although this was his first visit to England--a little trip to Paris meant less, than nothing. "When do you propose to go?" he said to the girl when they presently rose to their feet. "I should like to go to-morrow; in fact. I must if I am to meet Mabel and Lady Lushington." "Then perhaps it would do if I broke the information to your uncle to-morrow morning?" "Yes; that will do _quite_ beautifully. Oh! I don't really know how to thank you." "Effect your worthy object, Annie, and I shall have obtained all the thanks I need," was the young man's reply. CHAPTER FOURTEEN. "IT RELATES TO YOUR NIECE ANNIE." It seemed to Annie that she had got quite close to John Saxon when he and she sat together on that boulder overhanging the valley below. But when they returned to the Rectory a barrier was once again erected between them. She had little or nothing to say to her cousin, and he had little or nothing to communicate to her. Mr Brooke was better. He was awake and inclined for company. Annie and Saxon both sat with him after supper. He asked Annie to sing for him. She had a sweet though commonplace voice. She sat down by the little, old piano, played hymn tunes, and sang two or three of the best-known hymns. By-and-by Saxon took her place. He had a lovely tenor voice, and the difference between his singing and Annie's was so marked that Mrs Shelf crept into the room to listen, and the old clergyman sat gently moving his hand up and down to keep time to the perfect rhythm and the exquisite, rich tones of the singer. "Nearer, my God, to Thee," sang John Saxon. Mr Brooke looked at Annie. Her head was bowed. Instinctively he put out his hand and laid it on her shoulder. "E'en though it be a cross that raiseth me," sang the sweet voice. "A cross that raiseth me," murmured old Mr Brooke. His hand rested a little heavier on the slim young shoulder. Annie felt herself trembling. Her worldly thoughts could not desert her even at that sacred moment. She had escaped a terrible danger, for even she, bad as she was, would not jeopardise the life of the old man who loved her best in the world. All fear of that was over now, and she would win a delightful time in Paris into the bargain. She was quite sure that John could manage her uncle.