“Not a bit, little mother,” chirped Carette, as they kissed very warmly.  “We have been quite happy, though, ma fe, it was as dark and still as the tomb, and there is a spring in there that is enough to frighten one into a fit.  And George Hamon here is trying to make us believe this is only Thursday, and it is certain we have been in there at least a week.”

“It is only Thursday,” smiled my mother.  “But the time must have seemed long in the dark and all by yourselves.”

“Oh, we didn’t mind being by ourselves, not a bit, and we never quarrelled once.  But, ma fe, yes, it was dark, and so still.  I could hear Phil’s heart beat when I couldn’t see him.”

“You both look as if you had been seeing ghosts.  Is it that your arm is paining you, Phil, mon gars?”

“Hardly at all.  Carette saw to it.”

“Bien!  You are bleached for lack of sunshine, then.”

“Mon Dieu, yes,” said Carette.  “I felt myself getting whiter every minute, and we were almost starving when Uncle George came.  We had been days without food, you know, although you all say it is only Thursday;” and my mother smiled and began to spread the table, but we showed her it was only Carette’s nonsense.

But if she was relieved on our account, she was still very anxious about her father.

“They are fighting over there, George,” she said, looking anxiously out over the water to where Herm lay peacefully in the afternoon sunshine, and as we stood listening, the dull sound of guns came to us again.  “That means that he got there all right?”

“Trust Philip to get there all right.  And to come back all right too.  I hope they’ll make an end of them,” said Uncle George stoutly.

“You can never tell what will happen when fighting’s afoot,” she sighed.

“He’ll take care of himself.  Don’t you worry, Rachel.”

“Shall I put a fresh bandage on your head?  It is hurting you, I can see.”

“No, no,” he said hastily, and then, “Well, yes truly, it is hard and dry—­if you will;” and she steeped his bandage in cold water and carefully bound up his head again.  And all the time we were in mortal fear lest some chance word from one or the other should disclose that which was hidden in the cave, that which would blight her life again if it got out.

“Did they trouble you, mother?” I asked.

“The young Torode came with a party of his men and searched every corner of the place.  And in reply to his questionings all I said was that you were gone.  Then George and your grandfather came up and would have turned them out, and the young man and George fell out—­”

“He drew a pistol on me and gave me this, and I knocked him down,” said Uncle George.  “And then the men dragged him away.”

“It’s well it was no worse,” said my mother.  “I do not like that young man;” and little she knew how small cause indeed she had to like him.