"Phipson shall pay for it with her blood."

"My hero—my darling! Don't spare Phipson. She screams bitterly if a pin is stuck into her. I did it once. Stick her all over with pins."

By this I'd begun to guess what was pretty near the truth—that I was talking with a mad aunt of the family below, and that the game was in my hands if I played it with decent care. So I brought her to face the important question.

"Look here," I said, "all this shall be done when you are out of their hands. At present I'm running a considerable risk in braving these persecutors of yourn. Dearest madam, the ladder's outside and the carriage waiting. Hadn't we better elope at once?"

She gave a sob, and fell on my shoulders.

"Oh, is it true—is it true? Pinch me, that I may awake if this is but a happy dream!"

"You are ready?"

"This moment."

"There's just one other little matter, ma'am—your jewels. You won't leave them to your enemies, I suppose?"

This was the dangerous moment, and I felt a twitch of the nerves as I watched her face to see how she would take the suggestion. But the poor silly soul turned up her eyes to mine, all full of tears and confidence.

"Dearest, I am old, old. Had you come earlier, my beauty had not wanted jewels to set it off. But now I must wear them to look my best—as your bride."

She hid her face in her hands for a second, then turned to the dressing-table, lifted her jewel-case and put it into my hands.

"I am ready," she repeated: "let us be quick and stealthy as death."

She followed me to the window and looking out, drew back.

"What horrible, black depths!"

"It's as easy," said I, "as pie. You could do it on your head; look here——," I climbed out first and helped her, setting her feet on the rungs.

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