"No, Jean," she muttered, "he dare not come back, for there is a police always on the watch for him, though I have not told. But, hush! don't speak," she whispered, as a heavy step was heard to pass along the court; and all the while the light shone strangely upon her sharp withered features and the sallow face and wild eyes of Jean. "Hold this now," she said softly, and once more she went nimbly back to the cellar-door to listen, when, closing it gently, she hurried to the side of her trembling son. "You fool!" she muttered sneeringly, "you shake, and there is nothing to fear. Now hold the candle low, and shade it with your coat;" and then, going down upon hands and knees, she crawled into the bin before her--one that was deep and narrow; and, panting and sighing with the exertion, she scraped away a little of the blackened sawdust, and thrust her hands beneath what appeared to be the brick end of the bin, lifted it a little and then thrust sideways, when the whole back slowly slid along, disclosing an opening which the whitewashed stone had before covered. A little more hard thrusting and Jean could see that there was apparently room to pass into what appeared to be another cellar, while a cold, damp, foul-smelling vapour rushed through, and nearly extinguished the candle. "Come, quick, Jean," panted _ma mere_, making her way through the opening, when Jean crawled into the bin and handed her the guttering candle before following her through the hole, against which he kneeled hesitating; but directly after he crept through and stood beside his mother in a little cellar surrounded by bins similar to those in the one they had left; then, having stuck the candle amongst the loose damp sawdust, _ma mere_ drew the stone flag back into its place, for it ran in a rough brick groove at the bottom, while at the top it was kept from falling by a large iron bar roughly laid in a couple of staples. "Now look, now look," hissed _ma mere_, taking the candle in her hands and peering about; "wine, old wine in bottles, put here and forgotten; and what is this?--my faith, it is a melting-pot;" and she paused curiously by a large black-lead crucible, fitted upon a rough brick furnace, whose chimney was a piece of iron piping, carried up apparently into one of the house flues. By its side in an old box was a quantity of charcoal; and in another several pounds of saltpetre, evidently used to augment the fierceness of the fire, while by the side lay a pair of bellows--instruments which had before now caused angry words to issue from Mr Jarker's lips. "Now look, Jean; but what ails you, fool? Look at the boxes; there, that is where the rich things are;" and her lean fingers clutched and clawed and opened and shut as she held a hand out towards a rough chest.