Naturally, one of the first inquiries of the children on recovering was as to whether their assailant had been captured, and Mrs. Anketell was greatly troubled, fearing it would make them nervous of the place if they knew he was still at large, and she longed to be able to assure them that the man was safely under lock and key again. Another thing she feared was that the children would be too terrified to stay in the neighbourhood, and would wish to be taken home. But when by-and-by an immediate return home was suggested to them they pleaded so hard—to her great relief—to be allowed to stay, that she gladly fell in with their wishes, being anxious to leave with a happier impression of the place than that given by the fright, almost tragedy, they had just sustained.

So they stayed on. Stella soon grew bright and rosy again when she saw that Paul was not dangerously hurt, and with the happy knack which healthy, plucky children, have, she soon threw off any dread she might have of going out and about, and with 'Watch' (the dog Farmer Minards gave the children to be their own special protector) at their heels, she and Michael wandered about, within reach of home, as happily as if no such person as a convict existed.

Paul, of course, did not recover so quickly; he had to be quiet until his wound had healed, and Stella and Michael missed him very much in all their games and walks, so much so indeed that Mr. Anketell, who had been sent for at once, took to planning little excursions to various picturesque spots in the neighbourhood, where they would have tea in a cottage, or in a cottage garden, and drive home in the cool of the evening.

One day, soon after the accident, while Paul was still too weak to get about, Mr. Anketell suggested that they should drive that afternoon to a village called Windycross, walk on a mile to the little town which was their nearest shopping-place, and come back to Windycross to tea. Stella was delighted. For days she had been longing to buy a little present for Paul, but did not know how to manage it; here was her opportunity, and with her purse in her pocket, and heart full of delightful importance, she clambered up into the carriage and drove off.

It was a lovely day, and the children were in the highest spirits, only saddened every now and again by the sight of the searchers still scouring the country for the escaped man, and the fear that the poor fellow might at any moment be caught, for, strange though it may seem, all the children's sympathies were with him, and they longed to hear that the search had been abandoned.

The drive to Windycross was a long one, but they reached there in good time, and Michael and Stella stood looking about them full of interest at the funny little low white cottages, while their father went into one and ordered tea. Then they strolled slowly on to the town, and Stella laid out two of the five shillings she possessed on a book she knew Paul was longing to possess. Her pleasure and excitement over her purchase were immense; she could not allow anyone else to carry it, and every now and again she was filled with a longing to untie the string and look at her treasure, to turn over the crisp new leaves, and glance at the pictures. At last, when they reached the village, she could restrain herself no longer. They had got back earlier than they thought they would, and the tea was not ready, so Mr. Anketell, who wanted to call on a friend near by, thought he would go and do that while they were waiting, and take the children with him.

But Stella wanted so much to undo her precious parcel and look at her book that she pleaded to be left behind, and Mr. Anketell and Michael left her at the cottage. But she soon found that that did not suit her; there were too many people about, and she was shy under the glances of so many eyes; so she strolled into the garden, but that was close to the village street, and a girl who was working there dropped her work to stare at the stranger.

Stella began to feel quite cross, and she looked around to see if there was no secluded spot in all that place. Then her eye fell on the little church hidden away amongst trees at the bottom of the village, and her heart leaped. She turned to the girl who was picking fruit and watching her at the same time. "I am going down to the churchyard to sit in the shade," she said. "I will be back again by the time tea is ready," and before the girl could reply she had hurried away.

The top of the village seemed to be the favourite spot at Windycross for the villagers to congregate; most of the houses were up there, too, while the lower end where the church stood was as deserted as the other end was sought after; to Stella's great joy she did not see a single person, and as she clambered over the stone stile which led into it, and wandered along the overgrown paths, she felt as though she was as safe from intrusion as though she had been in the middle of the moor. The fact was, the yard had long ceased to be used as a burying-ground, and the church itself was as nearly deserted by the present generation of villagers, for a clergyman came only once a month to hold service there, and while the old building gradually became a ruin, a flourishing chapel sprang up to satisfy the needs of the neglected people.

But Stella knew and thought nothing of this; she was only bent on finding a comfortable, secluded seat, where she sat and unwrapped her parcel. She thought of Paul's surprise, and how pleased he would be, she dipped into the pages here and there and read a few lines, admired the covers, and enjoyed the delightful smell new books so often have, and at last, half reluctantly, she wrapped her treasure up in its paper again, trying to make it look as neat as when the shopman had handed it to her. That done she got up to explore further. It was a weird, neglected spot she had got into. Numbers of tombstones lay about as they had fallen, others were leaning over looking as though another gale would lay them flat too. The shrubs which had been planted on the graves had grown to be great, unkempt bushes, spreading over many other graves than the one they had been planted on; tiny saplings had become big trees, forcing out tombstones and curbs, and everywhere the rank grass grew high up into the bushes. But greatest of all dilapidations was that of the church itself; many of the windows had been broken, and were left unrepaired; here and there a great piece of stonework had fallen away; the outer gates of the porch hung loose on one hinge. Stella entered the porch and sat for a moment on one of the stone benches.

Then, scarcely knowing why she did it, she raised the latch of the church door. To her great surprise the door opened, and without a thought she entered. She had never been in so tumbledown and neglected a place in her life; the pew-doors were either hanging or gone altogether, some of the pews were too rotten to use, the plaster and paint hung off in scales, and a large hole in the roof showed that the risk of attending service there was no slight one.

But Stella did not heed the danger; she was too much charmed to find herself alone and exploring. A sense of importance filled her, and a good deal of curiosity. She looked at the names in some of the mouldy hymn books lying in the pews, and mounted the pulpit to see how the church looked from there. Then she went into the vestry, and coming out of it she found herself at the entrance to a low dark place which she thought must be a family vault. It was so low and dark she could at first see nothing within, and instinctively she drew herself up sharply on the threshold, doubtful, but of what she did not know. But, somehow, she did not like to enter, a sudden nervousness came over her, a desire to get away from the place and be out in the open again.

And then, with a terrified scream, she saw close to her, gleaming out of the darkness, a wild looking, savage face; two eyes full of desperation, and hunger, and despair, were fixed on hers; and in another moment she recognised the hiding convict. The fear in his face lightened when he found that the footsteps he had listened to for what seemed so long were only those of a little girl.

"Are you alone?" he asked, in a low, gruff voice.

With the shock, and the fright, and her fear of the man, a sudden panic seized Stella; she could not answer, and with another terrified cry she turned and ran. But she did not know her way, and in her hurry she tripped over a step, and before she could recover herself the man was at her side. But instead of killing her, as she really thought he would, he lifted her up, not roughly, and put her on her feet, then picked up her parcel and after carefully feeling it, handed it to her, though he kept a tight grip of her hand.

"Missy," he said in a low voice, so hoarse she could hardly make out what he said—"Missy, I ain't goin' to hurt you. I give 'ee my word I won't harm you if you'll only promise not to breathe a word about my being here."

A sound outside, probably only a bird fluttering in the ivy, made him start nervously, and Stella saw that he shook, and that the perspiration stood out on his face. He drew her quickly back to the entrance to the vault. "Swear you won't ever breathe a word to anybody that you have seen me. Swear it! Do you hear?"

He looked so ferocious, that Stella began to cry. "I won't tell, of course not," she said, earnestly. "I am not a sneak, and we wanted you to escape; we all hoped you were far away by this time. Paul and I thought you must be."

He gave a sort of snarl. "There's no getting away from this place, unless anybody's got friends outside to help 'em. They are too sharp, and there are too many of 'em. But I've gone free longer than any before me, and that's something. Who is Paul?" he asked suddenly. "And where do you live?"

"We live at Moor Farm. Paul is my brother, the one you shot."

The man looked at her sharply, "Did I—did I hurt him much?"

"The bullet went through his arm. He didn't die."

"I'm glad of that," said the man, and he spoke as though he really meant it. "I'm starving," he said a second later. "I haven't had a mouthful since the day before yesterday, and I can't hold out much longer. Have you got any food about you?"

Stella shook her head. "No, I haven't. I am so sorry," she said wistfully, and the man's hard face grew soft as her blue eyes looked pityingly up at him. "I wish I could help you," she said earnestly; then with sudden recollection, "I have three shillings, if that would be of any use to you."

"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.