Every precaution against a surprise was taken by the inmates of Alder Cottage. All the lower windows had been fitted with screws, so as to render it impossible for them to be opened from the outside, and strong chains had been fixed to all the doors, so that they could be partially opened, and yet no one be able to gain admission without leave. Night and day the chains were kept fastened, and were only let down for a moment at a time to allow of the egress or ingress of the inmates, or of their sole visitor, Tom Bristow. The blinds were kept lowered as much as possible; and at nightfall, when the lamps were lighted, shutters and thick curtains effectually precluded any spying from the outside. The wardrobe brought by Tom from London, as already stated, was fixed in a recess in Edith’s dressing-room, and it was this room which Lionel chiefly occupied. Here Tom used to come and see him, and many were the long talks they had together over Lionel’s future plans and prospects. The first step was to get Lionel safely out of England. By the end of the first week after his escape, he began to chafe under the restraints imposed upon him by the necessities of the case. He became possessed by a longing, almost irresistible in its force, to go out of doors—to breathe the free air of heaven beyond the close walls of the cottage, if only for one short hour; and only by the earnest entreaties of his wife and Tom was he persuaded to keep within. Mr. Drayton’s spies had not been set to watch the cottage four-and-twenty hours before Tom knew of it, and it only made him all the more anxious to get Lionel away. But the question of whither he should go was beset with many difficulties. Many plans had been discussed by the two friends, but nothing had been decided upon when Mr. Drayton and his merry men set out for Alder Cottage, one windy afternoon, armed with the search-warrant issued by Colonel Chumley. The superintendent’s imperative summons at the front door echoed through the little house, blanching the cheeks of the two ladies, and causing Martha Vince to drop the plate she was carrying as though it were red hot. Edith sprang to the window and peered out between the venetians. “They are come—the police!” she said with a gasp. “Don’t let them in, Martha, till I tell you that I’m ready.” Then she flew upstairs. Lionel had been dozing over a novel on the sofa; but the summons had aroused him, and Edith found him standing against the door, waiting to hear her news. “What is it?” he asked. “Oh, darling—the police!” And then her arms went round him as if in their white shelter he could find a protection from every danger. “Let them come,” said Lionel, as he stooped and kissed the upturned yearning face on his shoulder. “It is better so. When once they have searched and found nothing, we shall be left in peace—our suspense will be at an end. Let them come.” “But if——?” The terror in her eyes said the rest.