Paul the Courageous

by Mabel Quiller-Couch

"Thank you, Missy, it might be," he said gratefully; "but I wish you'd got a bit of bread."

She took out her little purse, and counted out the money into his rough hand. "Thank you, Missy," he said again. "I shall never forget you, if I gets away, or if I'm took I shall always be humbly grateful to you, and think of you as one of the pluckiest little ladies that ever lived."

"Thank you," she said politely, "but I think I must be going now, or someone may come to look for me."

The man's face again was filled with a desperate fear, and he shrank back further into the gloom of the vault, "Before you go you must swear you won't give me away. Swear!—do you hear, on your solemn oath!"

"I don't know how to swear," said Stella simply, "but I promise solemnly not to tell anyone who would do you any harm."

"That won't do. You must not tell anyone at all, unless you hear I'm— took—or killed," with a bitter laugh.

"Very well," said Stella. "I don't like keeping it from mother, but I will keep the secret, for your sake. I hope you will soon get some food. Good-bye," and she held out her hand to shake hands with him.

The man took it, but did not speak, and Stella, drawing her hand away, ran down the aisle and through the church as fast as she could. Not until she was outside did she realise how her limbs were trembling, and she wondered how she should ever get back to the cottage and escape notice and questioning. But in her great desire to shield the man she made such efforts to laugh and talk and be like her usual self, and Michael had so much to say too, that nothing unusual was observed in her look or manner. And if, during the next few days, any of them thought her unusually quiet and thoughtful, it was all put down to the shock the burglar had given her that night, no one dreaming that she had had a long and solitary interview with that same desperate creature, and had come out of it unhurt.

But only for a week did her silence last, for at the end of that time the poor, wretched convict was captured, miles from Windycross, just as he was making his way to a train which would have borne him, probably, to safety. As usual, all sympathy was with the captured man, but to Stella his arrest was a real and lasting grief, and when amidst many bitter tears she told the story of her adventure at Windycross, her one hope was that he did not think she was in any way concerned in his capture.