chirped shrilly all around, but a great stillness seemed to
fall upon the darkling earth as the grey evening came down,
and enfolded it in its soft mists. Grey fields stretched away
on either hand, grey clouds that had been rosy-red half an
hour ago, floated overhead; only the trees looked dark against
the tender grey sky, the encircling hills of Liege against the
lingering twilight glow.

The silent influence of the hour made itself felt on these two
also, perhaps, for neither of them spoke at first; indeed,
Graham's thoughts had wandered far beyond the horizon before
him, when he was aroused by the sound of a little sob, and
turning round, he saw that Madelon was crying.

"What is it, Madelon?" he said; "are you tired? What is the
matter?"

She did not answer at once, she was struggling with her tears;
at last out came the grief.

"It--it all looks so sad, and gloomy, and _triste_," she said. "I
do not want to come here and be shut up in the convent; oh,
take me away, take me away!"

She clung to Graham as if she were to be parted from him that
moment, whilst he soothed her as best he could.

"We will go away at once if you like," he said; "I think we
did wrong to come at this time of the evening; everything
looks grey and cheerless now--you will see to-morrow how much
brighter it will all appear."

"It is not only that," said Madelon, striving to check her
sobs; "but just now, when we were sitting here, somehow I had
forgotten all about where I was, and everything; and I thought
I was out walking with papa, as I used to be, and I was
planning what we would do to-morrow--and then all at once I
remembered--and to-morrow I shall be in there, and I shall
never see him again, and you will be gone too--oh, papa, papa----"

She was shaking all over with one of her sudden bursts of
passionate crying. What could he do to console her? What could
he say to comfort her? Not much, perhaps, but then much was
not needed; only a few words commonplace enough, I daresay--but
then, as we have said, Monsieur Horace's voice and words
always had a wonderful influence with our little Madelon. How
is it, indeed, that amidst a hundred tones that fret and jar
on our ears, there is one kind voice that has power to calm
and soothe us--amid a hundred alien forms, one hand to which we
cling for help and support? Graham did not say much, and yet,
as Madelon listened, her sobs grew less violent, her tears
ceased, she began to control