“It was my fault, love—­he is so harmless and so gentle, and he has such a sweet face—­I thought it might soothe you to see him.  Forgive me; we will never speak of him again.  Have you any notes for me to copy?  You know, Lewis, I am your secretary now.”

So she led Romayne away to his study and his books.  When Major Hynd arrived, she contrived to be the first to see him.  “Say as litt le as possible about the General’s widow and her son,” she whispered.

The Major understood her.  “Don’t be uneasy, Mrs. Romayne,” he answered.  “I know your husband well enough to know what you mean.  Besides, the news I bring is good news.”

Romayne came in before he could speak more particularly.  When the servants had left the room, after dinner, the Major made his report.

“I am going to agreeably surprise you,” he began.  “All responsibility toward the General’s family is taken off our hands.  The ladies are on their way back to France.”

Stella was instantly reminded of one of the melancholy incidents associated with her visit to Camp’s Hill.  “Madame Marillac spoke of a brother of hers who disapproved of the marriage,” she said.  “Has he forgiven her?”

“That is exactly what he has done, Mrs. Romayne.  Naturally enough, he felt the disgrace of his sister’s marriage to such a man as the General.  Only the other day he heard for the first time that she was a widow—­and he at once traveled to England.  I bade them good-by yesterday—­most happily reunited—­on their journey home again.  Ah, I thought you would be glad, Mrs. Romayne, to hear that the poor widow’s troubles are over.  Her brother is rich enough to place them all in easy circumstances—­he is as good a fellow as ever lived.”

“Have you seen him?” Stella asked, eagerly.

“I have been with him to the asylum.”

“Does the boy go back to France?”

“No.  We took the place by surprise, and saw for ourselves how well conducted it was.  The boy has taken a strong liking to the proprietor—­a bright, cheerful old man, who is teaching him some of our English games, and has given him a pony to ride on.  He burst out crying, poor creature, at the idea of going away—­and his mother burst out crying at the idea of leaving him.  It was a melancholy scene You know what a good mother is—­no sacrifice is too great for her.  The boy stays at the asylum, on the chance that his healthier and happier life there may help to cure him.  By-the-way, Romayne, his uncle desires me to thank you—­”

“Hynd! you didn’t tell the uncle my name?”

“Don’t alarm yourself.  He is a gentleman, and when I told him I was pledged to secrecy, he made but one inquiry—­he asked if you were a rich man.  I told him you had eighteen thousand a year.”

“Well?”