thoughtfully. An idea that had been dimly forming in his
brain, took alarming shape. A small companion at the Union had lately
been sent out as a page to a kindly family. Christopher wondered if
that was the meaning of all these strange adventures for him. At the
same time he was conscious of so vast a sense of disappointment that
he was compelled to put his Fate to the test at once. He jerked out
the inquiry with breathless abruptness.

"Am I going to be your page?"

"Page?" Aymer Aston echoed the words with consternation; then held out
his hand to the child.

"Didn't my father tell you?" he asked.

A kind of nervous exasperation seized on Christopher. He was tired,
overwrought, puzzled and baffled.

"No one tells me anything," he said petulantly, blinking hard to keep
back the tears; "they just took me."

"Do you want to be a page boy?"

"No." It was emphatic to the point of rudeness.

Aymer put his arm round him and drew him near, laughing.

"You are not going to be a page," he said, "you are going to be"--he
hesitated--"to be my own boy--just as if you were my son. I've adopted
you."

"Why?"

Christopher's dark eyes were fixed on the blue ones and then he saw
the scar for the first time. It interested him so much he hardly heard
Aymer's slow answer when it came.

"I have a great deal of time on my hands, and I should have liked a
son of my own. As I can't have that I've adopted you. Don't you think
you can like me?"

Christopher looked round the room and back at the sofa. The voice was
kind and the arm that was round him gripped him firmly; also, Mr.
Aston had said he lived here too. That was reassuring. He was not
quite certain how he felt towards this strangely fascinating man, but
he was quite sure of his sentiments towards Mr. Aston.

"Mr. Aston lives here, doesn't he?"

"Yes; do you like him best?"

"I like him very much," said Christopher truthfully, and added
considerately, "You see, I've known him longer, haven't I?"

"You must like me too."

Christopher was too young to read the passionate hunger in the voice
and the look. It was gone in a moment.

Aymer released him, laughing.

"Is there anyone else?" asked the boy, looking vaguely round.

"Anyone else living here? Only the servants."

"I don't mean that." A puzzled look came into his face. "I mean--there
was Mrs. Moss and Grannie Jane, and Mrs. Sartin and Jessy and mother."
Then he recollected Mr. Aston's prohibition and got