The last scene of the performance was over. If I remember rightly, at this distance of time, it was the representation of the falling of an avalanche on a Swiss village, to bury it for ever in the snow; and we saw the little lighted church to which the terrified inhabitants were flying for succour, and heard the tinkling of its alarm bell. As we pushed out with the crowd, a policeman appeared in our way, facing us, a tall, big, fierce-looking man; not to impede the advance of the throng, but to direct its movements. Janet Carey seized my arm, and I turned to look at her. She stood something like a block of stone; her face white with terror, her eyes fixed on the policeman. I could not get her on, and we were stopping those behind. Naturally the man's eyes fell on her; and with evident recognition. "Oh, it's you here, is it, Miss Carey!" The tone was not exactly insolent: but it was cool and significant, wanting in respect. When I would have asked him how he dared so to address a young lady, the words were arrested by Janet. I thought she had gone mad. "Oh, get me away, Mr. Ludlow, for Heaven's sake! Don't let him take me! Oh what shall I do? what shall I do?" "What you've got to do is to get for'ard out o' this here passage and not block up the way," struck in the policeman. "I bain't after you now; so you've no call to be afeared this time. Pass on that way, sir." I drew her onwards, and in half-a-minute we were in the open air, clear of the throng. Cattledon, who seemed to have understood nothing, except that we had stopped the way, shook Janet by the arm in anger, and asked what had come to her. "It was the same man, aunt, that Mrs. Knox called in," she gasped. "I thought he had come to London to look for me." Miss Cattledon's answer was to keep hold of her arm, and whirl her along towards the outer gates. Anna and I followed in wonder. "What is it all, Johnny?" she whispered. "Goodness knows, Anna. I----" Cattledon turned her head, asking me to go on and secure a cab. Janet was helped into it and sat back with her eyes closed, a shiver taking her every now and then. Janet appeared at dinner, and seemed as well as usual. In the evening Helen tore the skirt of her thin dress: and before she was aware, the girl was kneeling by the side of her chair with a needle and thread, beginning to mend it. "You are very kind," said Helen heartily, when she saw what Janet was doing. "Oh no," answered Janet, with an upward, humble glance from her nice eyes. But soon after that, when we were describing to Helen and Miss Deveen the sights at the Colosseum, and the silence of the buried village after the avalanche had fallen, Janet was taken with an ague fit. The very chair shook; it seemed that she must fall out of it. Anna ran to hold her. Miss Deveen got up in consternation.