f course," repeated the boy, who was not listening to a word she said.
"How could it be?"

"But it doesn't matter how old you are or how young you feel, as long as
you don't hate me for having frightened you," she said after a pause.
"That's the chief thing."

He was very, very puzzled. He could not help feeling it had been rather
unkind of her to frighten him so badly that he had literally been
frightened out of his skin; but he couldn't remember anything about it,
and she was taking so much trouble to save him now that he quite forgave
her. He nestled up against her, and said of course he liked her, and she
stroked his curly head and mumbled a lot of things to herself that he
couldn't understand a bit.

But in spite of his new-found friend the feeling of over-mastering
loneliness would suddenly rush over him. She might be a protector, but
she was not a _real_ companion; and he knew that somewhere or other he
had left a lot of other _real_ companions whom he now missed dreadfully.
He longed more than he could say for freedom; he wanted to be able to
come and go as he pleased; to play about in a garden somewhere as of
old; to wander over soft green lawns among laburnums and sweet-smelling
lilac trees, and to be up to all his old tricks and mischief--though he
could not remember in detail what they were.

In a word, he wanted to escape; his whole being yearned to escape and be
free again; yet here he was a wretched prisoner in a room like a
prison-cell, with a sort of monster for a keeper, and a troop of
horrible frightened children somewhere else in the house to keep him
company. And outside there was only a hard, narrow, paved courtyard with
a high wall round it. Oh, it was too terrible to think of, and his heart
sank down within him till he felt as if he could do nothing else but
cry.

"I shall save you in time," whispered the governess, as though she read
his thoughts. "You must be patient, and do what I tell you, and I
promise to get you out. Only be brave, and don't ask too many questions.
We shall win in the end and escape."

Suddenly he looked up, with quite a new expression in his face. "But I
say, Miss Cake, I'm frightfully hungry. I've had nothing to eat since--I
can't remember when, but ever so long ago."

"You needn't call me Miss Cake, though," she laughed.

"I suppose it's because I'm so hungry."

"Then you'll call me Miss Lake when you're thirsty, perhaps," she said.
"But, anyhow, I'll see what