how the French cousin no longer sent that fifty pounds a year which
was to pay Lydia Purcell, how in consequence she and Maurice were to
go to the Union, and how Toby was to be hung; she said that rather
than submit to _that_, she and Maurice had resolved to run away.
She even shyly and in conclusion confided some of her religious
doubts and difficulties to the kind clergyman. And she said with a
frank sweet light in her blue eyes that she was quite happy now, for
she had found out all about the Guide she needed. But about her
secret, her Russia-leather purse, her motive in going to France,
Cecile was absolutely silent.

"I must go to France," she said, "and I must not tell why; 'tis a
great secret, and it would be wrong to tell. I'd much rather tell
you, sir, and Mrs. Moseley, but I must not. I did tell Jane Parsons,
I could not help that, but I must try to keep my great secret to
myself for the future."

It was impossible not to respect the little creature's silence as
much as her confidence.

Mr. Danvers said, in conclusion, "I will not press for your story,
my little girl; but it is only right that I as a clergyman, and
someone much older than you, should say, that no matter _what_
promise you are under, it would be very wrong for you and your baby
brother to go alone to France now. Whatever you may feel called on to
do when you are grown up, such a step would now be wrong. I will
write to your French cousin, and ask him if he is willing to give you
and Maurice a home; in which case I must try to find someone who will
take you two little creatures back to your old life in the Pyrenees.
Until you hear from me again, it is your duty to stay here."