imself quite fit to go out and stroll around, and Mrs. Anketell
was glad for him to be out in the sunshine and air again, he was so pale,
and his spirits seemed so low.

On one point Mrs. Anketell had been most imperative--not a word as
to the escaped convicts was to be mentioned before Stella and Michael.
They had had so much to excite and alarm them lately, she was most anxious
to keep this last terror from them. Mike, she knew, had a childish dread
of the prison and its occupants, and Stella, who was not strong yet after
her illness, had also been nervous of being in the near neighbourhood of
the prison. So the two younger ones ran out and played about with light
hearts, full of pleasure that Paul was with them again, and anxious only
to make him laugh and romp about, and tease them as he used to do.
But Paul, though he was out in the sunshine once more, and though he had
escaped the detection of his wickedness, could not laugh, or joke, or take
any interest in the others' amusement, for a great weight lay on his heart
and his conscience, and he wondered if he should ever be a happy,
light-hearted boy again.

It was such a lovely day, that first day he was out, so warm, and bright,
and perfect, that Mrs. Anketell promised them they should have all their
meals in the orchard, for there she felt they would be safe from harm,
and Farmer Minards sent out for one of the shepherd's dogs to be with them
too. So they had their mid-day dinner under the apple-trees, and played
there contentedly enough, the children unconscious of any danger, their
mother feeling for the time safe, and trying to put all fear from her,
Paul in constant dread of he scarcely knew what.

In the afternoon Mr. Anketell had to leave them, as a telegram had come
calling him to London at once. He was very vexed about it, for he felt
peculiarly loath to leave them just then, he too being filled with a
foreboding of fear, for which he could not account except by telling
himself that Paul's extraordinary night adventure, and the narrow escape
from the morass, had upset his nerves, and made him unusually fearful.
When the car came round to take him to the station, he called Paul aside,
and spoke to him very gravely.

"Paul, my son," he said kindly, "I have to leave you all, though I am more
than unwilling to do so, but I am going to leave your mother and the
children in your charge. Keep the little ones in your sight, guard them
all carefully. Cea