AFTER this Vivian made rapid progress. Happiness is a great restorer, and the little boy was very happy in those days.

Dr Armitage had soon to go back to his work; but Vivian’s mother stayed with him for a whole month, until he was almost quite well and able to run about the beautiful grounds of the chÂteau, and even to go to Dinard; and when at last she had to go home, and would have taken her boys with her, the hospitable Vicomte, who was really rather a lonely man, begged so earnestly that they might both be allowed to remain a little longer that their father and she agreed to his request, all the more readily perhaps as the detective’s words had proved true; and the newspapers in England were full of the romantic story of Vivian’s reappearance, the capture of the gang of burglars in Paris, and the recovery of most of the silver which had been stolen from Mr Osbourne’s house in January.

The thieves had not taken the precaution to melt it down, thinking, no doubt, that it was safe enough for the present in the thatch of Madame GenviÈve’s cowhouse, so Aunt Dora had got most of her forks and spoons back again without their being any the worse, and Claude, to his great joy, had his christening-mug to drink out of once more.

Needless to say, every one who read the newspapers, and especially those who knew the principal actors in the story, were deeply interested in every detail of it; and, although Dr and Mrs Armitage would have liked their two boys at home with them once more, they felt that it was much better that Vivian should remain quietly where he was not known until the excitement had passed over.

So all through the long summer days he and Ronald remained at the ChÂteau de Choisigny, learning to speak fluent French with the Vicomte, and boating on the river with Mr Maxwell, who proved himself to be the most delightful companion, entering into all their plans and interests as if he had been a boy himself.

At school and college he had been a clever sketcher, and in this time of enforced idleness he took up the pastime again, and gave lessons to the boys, Ronald proving an apt pupil; while Vivian could, as he said, ‘at least draw things well enough to let the people at home know what they were meant for.’

Under his guidance, too, they began a collection of butterflies and one of wild-flowers, and altogether the time passed so happily that it was almost with regret that they saw the end of August approaching.

Mr Maxwell was going to take up his work in his new parish in the beginning of September, and the happy party must then be broken up.

‘Another month, and you will be quite settled down in Cornwall, mon ami,’ said the Vicomte one evening, as they were idly drifting down the Rance in a little white rowing-boat, ‘and I will be preparing to set out to visit you and to rub up my English a little.’

‘And we will be home again,’ said Ronald in such a melancholy voice that every one laughed. ‘Of course,’ he went on apologetically, ‘I shall be very glad to be back with father and mother and little Dorothy, especially now that Vivi will be there too; but it has been so jolly here, and after the holidays it may be rather dull at home, for the Strangeways are going to school, and we will need to do our lessons alone.’

‘I thought you never much liked the Strangeways, and didn’t mind their going away,’ said Vivian.

‘No; I didn’t much care for them as long as I had you; but they were better than nobody,’ said Ronald candidly. ‘We will be the only boys in the neighbourhood now, and I don’t think we will go to school till next year at least. But, anyhow, they will not be gone for a week or two after we go back, so it won’t be so very quiet just at first, and we will get used to it after a bit.’

Vivian said nothing, but his face flushed. No one knew how he was dreading the return home and the shower of questions which he knew would be poured upon him by Fergus, and Vere, and Charlie. He would have done anything in the world to have avoided the meeting; but he knew it was unavoidable, so he was trying to accept it as part of his punishment, and to face it as bravely as he could.

Perhaps Mr Maxwell read his thoughts, for he laid his hand kindly on his shoulder.

‘I wonder how you two boys would like to come straight down to Cornwall with me?’ he said, smiling. ‘I have been thinking lately that I shall be very lonely after all the companionship which I have had here.—What say you, Ronald; do you think that we could do Latin and Greek together, and you could go on with your sketches?’

‘It would be jolly, sir,’ said Ronald; ‘but I am afraid we must go home now. The holidays are nearly past, and we can’t go everywhere.’

But Vivian saw what Mr Maxwell meant more clearly.

‘I believe you are in earnest, sir, and that you have asked father and mother to let us go and do lessons with you,’ he cried, clasping his friend’s hand in his excitement. ‘Oh, I hope they will let us go; you don’t know how I dread going home.’

‘Gently, gently, old fellow,’ said Mr Maxwell, as he noted Vivian’s quivering lips. Any sudden excitement was apt to bring on severe attacks of headache, which still caused anxiety to the little boy’s friends, for they showed that the bad effects of the long period of strain which he had passed through were not completely gone. ‘The fact is, I have arranged matters with your father and mother, and you are both going to keep me company for the next year or so, and do lessons with me. And, unless you very much want to go home first, we think it better that you should go straight to Cornwall with me next week. Do you like the plan, eh?’

‘I think it splendid, sir,’ said Ronald, feeling all at once that he was raised to the status of a public school boy; for was not living and doing lessons with a private tutor quite as good as being at school? While Vivian only squeezed Mr Maxwell’s hand very tightly, and whispered so softly that no one else could hear, ‘It is the new beginning you told me about, isn’t it, sir?’ And although the words were vague, Mr Maxwell knew what he meant.

‘But had we better not go home for a day or two?’ asked Ronald after a pause. ‘Will we not be rather in the way when you are settling your things in the Rectory? You told us that all your things were packed up, and that you would not have them sent down from London until you were there to see to them yourself.’

‘Ha, you luxurious fellow!’ laughed Mr Maxwell, ‘so you are afraid that you will arrive to find nothing but bare boards, and perhaps one plate and one cup amongst us. Well, for your comfort, I may tell you that the Rectory is furnished already, and I have only my books and pictures to arrange, and I shall expect you to help me with those.’

‘Oh, I didn’t mean that,’ said Ronald; ‘for even if the house hadn’t been furnished, Vivi and I could have roughed it; but I thought perhaps we might be in the way just at first. You will have such a lot to see to when there is no lady’—— And here he stopped and grew red, feeling that it was not very polite to allude to Mr Maxwell’s bachelor ways.

But the clergyman only laughed.

‘So you think that I would need a wife to arrange my belongings, or a sister, eh, Ronald? Well, I am sorry I have neither; but a very charming lady has promised to go down and get things ready for us—a lady and a dear little girl.’

Something in his voice made both boys look up.

‘Do you mean mother and Dorothy?’ they asked in one breath.

Mr Maxwell’s eyes twinkled. ‘Wild horses will not drag any more particulars out of me,’ he said; ‘only I think that you will find when you get there that there will be at least sheets on the beds, and perhaps even a cup of tea waiting for you.’ And with that the boys had to be content.