Without knowing it, they had wandered a good way into Normandy, and
though it was now getting quite into the middle of February, there
was not a trace of spring vegetation to be discovered. The weather,
too, was bitter and wintry. East winds, alternating with sleet
showers, seemed the order of the day.
Cecile had not dared to confide her secret to Mr. Danvers, neither
had all Mrs. Moseley's motherly kindness won it from her. But,
nevertheless, during the long, long days they spent together, she was
not proof against the charms of the tall boy whom she believed Jesus
had sent to guide her, and who was also her own fellow-countryman.
All that long and pathetic interview which Cecile and her dying
stepmother had held together had been told to Jography. Even the
precious leather purse had been put into his hands, and he had been
allowed to open it and count its contents.
For a moment his deep-black eyes had glittered greedily as he felt
the gold running through his fingers, then they softened. He returned
the money to the purse, and gave it back, almost reverently, to Cecile.
"Little Missie," he said, looking strangely at her and speaking in a
sad tone, "you ha' showed me yer gold. Do you know what yer gold 'ud
mean to me?"
"No," answered Cecile, returning his glance in fullest confidence.
"Why, Missie, I'm a poor starved lad. I ha' been treated werry
shameful. I ha' got blows, and kicks, and rough food, and little of
that same.
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