Evelyn was silent.

"I shall see that you are. You must realize already what a pitiable figure you will be, how deep and lasting will be your disgrace. You have just tasted the sweets of success; why should you undergo that which will be said of you to-morrow, that which no English girl can ever forgive? It will not be forgotten in the school that owing to you much enjoyment has been cut short, that owing to you a cloud has rested on the entire place for several days-prizes forgone, liberty curtailed, amus.e.m.e.nts debarred; and, before and above all these things, the fearful stigma of disgrace resting on every girl at Chepstow House. But even now, Evelyn, there is time; even now, by a full confession, much can be mitigated. You know, my dear, how strong is the case against you.

To-morrow morning both Miss Thompson and I proclaim before the entire school what has occurred. You are, in short, as a prisoner at the bar.

The school will be the judges; they will declare whether you are innocent or guilty."

"Let me go," said Evelyn. "Why do you torture me? I said I did not do it, and I mean to stick to what I said. Let me go."

"Unhappy child! I shall not be able to retain you in the school after to-morrow morning. But go now-go. G.o.d help you!"

Evelyn walked across the hall. Her school companions were still standing about; many wondered why her face was so pale, and asked one another what Miss Henderson had to say in especial to the little girl.

"It cannot be," said Sophie, "that she did it. Why, of course she did not do it; she would have no motive."

"Don't let us talk about it," said her companion. "For my part I rather like Evelyn-there is something so quaint and out-of-the-common about her-only I wish she would not look so angry sometimes."

"But how splendidly she recited that song of the ranch!" said Sophie. "I could see the whole picture. We must not expect her to be quite like ourselves; before she came here she was only a wild little savage."

The governess-cart had come for the two girls. They drove home in silence. Audrey was thinking of the misery of the following morning.

Evelyn was planning her escape. She meant to go before dinner. She had asked Jasper to meet her at seven o'clock precisely. She had thought everything out, and that seemed to be the best hour; the family would be in their different rooms dressing. Evelyn would make an excuse to send Read away-indeed, she seldom now required her services, preferring to dress alone. Read would be busy with her mistress and her own young lady, and Evelyn would thus be able to slip away without her prying eyes observing it.

Tea was ready for the girls when they got home. They took it almost without speaking. Evelyn avoided looking at Audrey. Audrey felt that it was now absolutely hopeless to say a word to Evelyn.

"I should just like to bid Uncle Edward good-by," thought the child.

"Perhaps I may never come back again. I do not suppose Aunt Frances will ever allow me to live at the Castle again. I should like to kiss Uncle Edward; he is the one person in this house whom I love."

She hesitated between her desire and her frantic wish to be out of reach of danger as soon as possible, but in the end the thought that her uncle might notice something different from usual about her made her afraid of making the attempt. She went up to her room.

"It is not necessary to dress yet," said Audrey, who was going slowly in the direction of the pretty schoolroom.

"No; but I have a slight headache," said Evelyn. "I will lie down for a few minutes before dinner. And, oh! please, Audrey, tell Read I do not want her to come and dress me this evening. I shall put on my white frock, and I know how to fasten it myself."

"All right; I will tell her," replied Audrey.

She did not say any more, but went on her way. Evelyn entered her room.

There she packed a few things in a bag; she was not going to take much.

In the bottom of the bag she placed for security the two little rolls of gold. These she covered over with a stout piece of brown paper; over the brown paper she laid the treasures she most valued. It did not occur to her to take any of the clothes which her Aunt Frances had bought for her.

"I do not need them," she said to herself. "I shall have my own dear old things to wear again. Jasper took my trunks, and they are waiting for me at The Priory. How happy I shall be in a few minutes! I shall have forgotten the awful misery of my life at Castle Wynford. I shall have forgotten that horrid scene which is to take place to-morrow morning. I shall be the old Evelyn again. How astonished Sylvia will be! Whatever Sylvia is, she is true to Jasper; and she will be true to me, and she will not betray me."

The time flew on; soon it was a quarter to seven. Evelyn could see the minute and hour hand of the pretty clock on her mantelpiece. The time seemed to go on leaden wings. She did not dare to stir until a few minutes after the dressing-gong had sounded; then she knew she should find the coast clear. At last seven silvery chimes sounded from the little clock, and a minute later the great gong in the central hall pealed through the house. There was the gentle rustle of ladies' silk dresses as they went to their rooms to dress-for a few visitors had arrived at the Castle that day. Evelyn knew this, and had made her plans accordingly. The family had a good deal to think of; Read would be specially busy. She went to the table where she had put her little bag, caught it up, took a thick shawl on her arm, and prepared to rush down-stairs. She opened the door of her room and peeped out. All was stillness in the corridor. All was stillness in the hall below. She hoped that she could reach the side entrance and get away into the shrubberies without any one seeing her. Cautiously and swiftly she descended the stairs. The stairs were made of white marble, and of course there was no sound. She crossed the big hall and went down by a side corridor. Once she looked back, having a horrible suspicion that some one was watching her. There was no one in sight. She opened the side door, and the next instant had shut it behind her. She gave a gasp of pleasure. She was free; the horrid house would know her no more.

"Not until I go back as mistress and pay them all out," thought the angry little girl. "Never again will I live at Castle Wynford until I am mistress here."

Then she put wings to her feet and began to run. But, alas for Evelyn!

the best-laid plans are sometimes upset, and at the moment of greatest security comes the sudden fall. For she had not gone a dozen yards before a hand was laid on her shoulder, and turning round and trying to extricate herself, she saw her Aunt Frances. Lady Frances, who she supposed was safe in her room was standing by her side.

"Evelyn," she said, "what are you doing?"

"Nothing," said Evelyn, trying to wriggle out of her aunt's grasp.

"Then come back to the house with me."

She took the little girl's hand, and they re-entered the house side by side.

"You were running away," said Lady Frances, "but I do not permit that.

We will not argue the point; come up-stairs."

She took Evelyn up to her room. There she opened the door and pushed her in.

"Doubtless you can do without dinner as you intended to run away," said Lady Frances. "I will speak to you afterwards; for the present you stay in your room." She locked the door and put the key into her pocket.

The angry child was locked in. To say that Evelyn was wild with pa.s.sion, despair, and rage is but lightly to express the situation. For a time she was almost speechless; then she looked round her prison. Were there any means of escape? Oh! she would not stand it; she would burst open the door. Alas, alas for her puny strength! the door was of solid oak, firmly fastened, securely locked; it would defy the efforts of twenty little girls of Evelyn's size and age. The window-she would escape by the window! She rushed to it, opened it, and looked out. Evelyn's room was, it is true, on the first floor, but the drop to the ground beneath seemed too much for her. She shuddered as she looked below.

"If I were on the ranch, twenty Aunt Franceses would not keep me," she thought; and then she ran into her sitting-room.

Of late she had scarcely ever used her sitting-room, but now she remembered it. The windows here were French; they looked on the flower-garden. To drop down here would not perhaps be so difficult; the ground at least would be soft. Evelyn wondered if she might venture; but she had once seen, long ago in Tasmania, a black woman try to escape.

She had heard the thud of the woman's body as it alighted on the ground, and the shriek which followed. This woman had been found and brought back to the house, and had suffered for weeks from a badly-broken leg.

Evelyn now remembered that thud, and that broken leg, and the shriek of the victim. It would be worse than folly to injure herself. But, oh, was it not maddening? Jasper would be waiting for her-Jasper with her big heart and her great black eyes and her affectionate manner; and the little white bed would be made, and the delicious chocolate in preparation; and the fun and the delightful escapade and the daring adventure must all be at an end. But they should not-no, no, they should not!

"What a fool I am!" thought Evelyn. "Why should I not make a rope and descend in that way? Aunt Frances has locked me in, but she does not know how daring is the nature of Evelyn Wynford. I inherit it from my darling mothery; I will not allow myself to be defeated."

Her courage and her spirits revived when she thought of the rope. She must wait, however, at least until half-past seven. The great gong sounded once more. Evelyn rushed to her door, and heard the rustle of the silken dresses of the ladies as they descended. She had her eye at the keyhole, and fancied that she detected the hated form of her aunt robed in ruby velvet. A slim young figure in white also softly descended.

"My cousin Audrey," thought the girl. "Oh dear! oh dear! and they leave me here, locked up like a rat in a trap. They leave me here, and I am out of everything. Oh, I cannot, will not stand it!"

She ran to her bed, tore off the sheets, took a pair of scissors, and cut them into strips. She had all the ways and quick knowledge of a girl from the wilds. She knew how to make a knot which would hold. Soon her rope was ready. It was quite strong enough to bear her light weight. She fastened it to a heavy article of furniture just inside the French windows of her sitting-room, and then dropping her little bag to the ground below, she herself swiftly descended.

"Free! free!" she murmured. "Free in spite of her! She will see how I have gone. Oh, won't she rage? What fun! It is almost worth the misery of the last half-hour to have escaped as I have done."

There was no one now to watch the little culprit as she stole across the gra.s.s. She ran up to the stile where Jasper was still waiting for her.

"My darling," said Jasper, "how late you are! I was just going back; I had given you up."

"Kiss me, Jasper," said Evelyn. "Hug me and love me and carry me a bit of the way in your strong arms; and, oh! be quick-be very quick-for we must hide, you and I, where no one can ever, ever find us. Oh Jasper, Jasper, I have had such a time!"

It was not Jasper's way to say much in moments of emergency. She took Evelyn up, wrapped her warm fur cloak well round the little girl, and proceeded as quickly as she could in the direction of The Priory. Evelyn laid her head on her faithful nurse's shoulder, and a ray of warmth and comfort visited her miserable little soul.

"Oh, I am lost but for you!" she murmured once or twice. "How I hate England! How I hate Aunt Frances! How I hate the horrid, horrid school, and even Audrey! But I love you, darling, darling Jasper, and I am happy once more."

"You are not lost with me, my little white Eve," said Jasper. "You are safe with me; and I tell you what it is, my sweet, you and I will part no more."

"We never, never will," said the little girl with fervor; and she clasped Jasper still more tightly round the neck.

But notwithstanding all Jasper's love and good-will, the little figure began to grow heavy, and the way seemed twice as long as usual; and when Evelyn begged and implored of her nurse to hurry, hurry, hurry, poor Jasper's heart began to beat in great thumps, and finally she paused, and said with panting breath:

"I must drop you to the ground, my dearie, and you must run beside me, for I have lost my breath, pet, and I cannot carry you any farther."

"Oh, how selfish I am!" said Evelyn at once. "Yes, of course I will run, Jasper. I can walk quite well now. I have got over my first fright. The great thing of all is to hurry. And you are certain, certain sure they will not look for me at The Priory?"