thought worse than nothing of your Lady Vandeleur; and if you had
an eye in your head you might see what she is for yourself. An

ungrateful minx, I will be bound for that!"
The General renewed his attack upon the knocker, and his passion

growing with delay, began to kick and beat upon the panels of the
door.

"It is lucky," observed the girl, "that I am alone in the house;
your General may hammer until he is weary, and there is none to

open for him. Follow me!"
So saying she led Harry into the kitchen, where she made him sit

down, and stood by him herself in an affectionate attitude, with a
hand upon his shoulder. The din at the door, so far from abating,

continued to increase in volume, and at each blow the unhappy
secretary was shaken to the heart.

"What is your name?" asked the girl.
"Harry Hartley," he replied.

"Mine," she went on, "is Prudence. Do you like it?"
"Very much," said Harry. "But hear for a moment how the General

beats upon the door. He will certainly break it in, and then, in
heaven's name, what have I to look for but death?"

"You put yourself very much about with no occasion," answered
Prudence. "Let your General knock, he will do no more than blister

his hands. Do you think I would keep you here if I were not sure
to save you? Oh, no, I am a good friend to those that please me!

and we have a back door upon another lane. But," she added,
checking him, for he had got upon his feet immediately on this

welcome news, "but I will not show where it is unless you kiss me.
Will you, Harry?"

"That I will," he cried, remembering his gallantry, "not for your
back door, but because you are good and pretty."

And he administered two or three cordial salutes, which were
returned to him in kind.

Then Prudence led him to the back gate, and put her hand upon the
key.

"Will you come and see me?" she asked.
"I will indeed," said Harry. "Do not I owe you my life?"

"And now," she added, opening the door, "run as hard as you can,
for I shall let in the General."

Harry scarcely required this advice; fear had him by the forelock;
and he addressed himself diligently to flight. A few steps, and he

believed he would escape from his trials, and return to Lady
Vandeleur in honour and safety. But these few steps had not been

taken before he heard a man's voice hailing him by name with many
execrations, and, looking over his shoulder, he beheld Charlie

Pendragon waving him with both arms to return. The shock of this
new incident was so sudden and profound, and Harry was already

worked into so high a state of nervoustension, that he could think
of nothing better than to accelerate his pace, and continue

running. He should certainly have remembered the scene in
Kensington Gardens; he should certainly have concluded that, where

the General was his enemy, Charlie Pendragon could be no other than
a friend. But such was the fever and perturbation of his mind that

he was struck by none of these considerations, and only continued
to run the faster up the lane.

Charlie, by the sound of his voice and the vile terms that he
hurled after the secretary, was obviously beside himself with rage.

He, too, ran his very best; but, try as he might, the physical
advantages were not upon his side, and his outcries and the fall of

his lame foot on the macadam began to fall farther and farther into
the wake.

Harry's hopes began once more to arise. The lane was both steep
and narrow, but it was exceedinglysolitary, bordered on either

hand by garden walls, overhung with foliage; and, for as far as the
fugitive could see in front of him, there was neither a creature

moving nor an open door. Providence, weary of persecution, was now
offering him an open field for his escape.

Alas! as he came abreast of a garden door under a tuft of
chestnuts, it was suddenly drawn back, and he could see inside,

upon a garden path, the figure of a butcher's boy with his tray
upon his arm. He had hardly recognised the fact before he was some

steps beyond upon the other side. But the fellow had had time to
observe him; he was evidently much surprised to see a gentleman go

by at so unusual a pace; and he came out into the lane and began to
call after Harry with shouts of ironical encouragement.

His appearance gave a new idea to Charlie Pendragon, who, although
he was now sadly out of breath, once more upraised his voice.

"Stop, thief!" he cried.
And immediately the butcher's boy had taken up the cry and joined

in the pursuit.
This was a bitter moment for the hunted secretary. It is true that

his terror enabled him once more to improve his pace, and gain with
every step on his pursuers; but he was well aware that he was near

the end of his resources, and should he meet any one coming the
other way, his predicament in the narrow lane would be desperate

indeed.
"I must find a place of concealment," he thought, "and that within

the next few seconds, or all is over with me in this world."
Scarcely had the thought crossed his mind than the lane took a

sudden turning; and he found himself hidden from his enemies.
There are circumstances in which even the least energetic of

mankind learn to behave with vigour and decision; and the most
cautious forget their prudence and embrace foolhardy resolutions.

This was one of those occasions for Harry Hartley; and those who
knew him best would have been the most astonished at the lad's

audacity. He stopped dead, flung the bandbox over a garden wall,
and leaping upward with incredible agility and seizing the

copestone with his hands, he tumbled headlong after it into the
garden.

He came to himself a moment afterwards, seated in a border of small
rosebushes. His hands and knees were cut and bleeding, for the

wall had been protected against such an escalade by a liberal
provision of old bottles; and he was conscious of a general

dislocation and a painful swimming in the head. Facing him across
the garden, which was in admirable order, and set with flowers of

the most deliciousperfume, he beheld the back of a house. It was
of considerableextent, and plainly habitable; but, in odd contrast

to the grounds, it was crazy, ill-kept, and of a mean appearance.
On all other sides the circuit of the garden wall appeared

unbroken.
He took in these features of the scene with mechanical glances, but

his mind was still unable to piece together or draw a rational
conclusion from what he saw. And when he heard footsteps advancing

on the gravel, although he turned his eyes in that direction, it
was with no thought either for defence or flight.

The new-comer was a large, coarse, and very sordidpersonage, in
gardening clothes, and with a watering-pot in his left hand. One

less confused would have been affected with some alarm at the sight
of this man's huge proportions and black and lowering eyes. But

Harry was too gravely shaken by his fall to be so much as
terrified; and if he was unable to divert his glances from the

gardener, he remained absolutelypassive, and suffered him to draw
near, to take him by the shoulder, and to plant him roughly on his

feet, without a motion of resistance.
For a moment the two stared into each other's eyes, Harry

fascinated, the man filled with wrath and a cruel, sneering humour.
"Who are you?" he demanded at last. "Who are you to come flying

over my wall and break my GLOIRE DE DIJONS! What is your name?" he
added, shaking him; "and what may be your business here?"

Harry could not as much as proffer a word in explanation.
But just at that moment Pendragon and the butcher's boy went

clumping past, and the sound of their feet and their hoarse cries