Charley--the sagacious, collected friend--what mortal could do, he would--she must see him. Rachel had not spoken, terrified by her mistress' expression and manner. It was a relief to aid her in any way; she brought, without a second's parley, the cloak and hood Ida ordered, and equipped herself to attend her. "Take the key," said Ida, as they went out of the door; and they sped on their way. The night was dark, and for whole squares not a light was visible. Half of the distance to Mr. Dana's was traversed without encountering a single being, when they approached a lighted doorway, in which two gentlemen were standing. Fearing to attract their attention by her hurried gait, Ida slackened her pace, and pulled her hood over her face. She heard one say--"If the spasms do not return he may not want watchers to-morrow night;" and a feeling of security stole upon her. The friends of the suffering would not molest her, whose mission was one of mercy. A few squares further on, they were met by a watchman. Rachel made out his badge of office through the obscurity, and pressed to her mistress' side. The man stopped. His keen eye discerned her color. "Your pass!" said he, confronting Rachel. "Her mistress is with her," answered Ida, emboldened by the exigency. He bowed respectfully, and pursued his beat. Ida's heart throbbed loudly, but she stifled her fears by a reconsideration of Lynn's extremity of danger,--"it was no time for nervous failings." Rachel did not possess such a tonic, and had seen every shadow, heard every rustle of the breeze. Before their adventure with the dreaded "guard," she had known that one of the gentlemen above-mentioned had taken the same route with themselves; keeping, however, upon the other side of the street; and after Ida's ready response removed her apprehension of "the cage" and Mayor's court, she saw him still upon her track--worse! crossing towards them. Overcome with terror, she clutched her mistress' arm, and by a frantic gesture, directed her to the object of alarm. He was within six feet of them; and startled by his proximity, and the fright of her attendant, she stood still. A minute of breathless suspense, and the stranger was at her side. "Miss Ross," he said, in a low but confident tone. "This is a strange hour for a lady to be in the street with such attendance!" His stern, cold address could not repress her thrilling pleasure. "Oh, Mr. Lacy!" she exclaimed, clinging to his arm, and giving way, for the first time, to tears. "Life and death depend upon my action--the life of one very dear to us both--you would not reproach me if you knew--" "Ida! _dear_ Ida!" said he, mindful only of her sorrow. "Can there be reason for this excessive grief? Your fears have misled you. Of whom do you speak?" She could not speak quite yet, but her sobs were subsiding under his soothing. "Will you not trust yourself and our friend to me, Ida?" She looked up. "Yes," she said, simply.