"Not till I know what's going to become of you." "But if I'm a prisoner you're my gaoler and you can let me out whenever you choose." "No I can't. I've to hand over the key to your mother." "So you can after I'm gone." "And what do you suppose I'm to say to her when that happens?" "Oh, what you like, Hannah. I don't believe you're afraid of anybody. You're so brave," said Lavinia, coaxingly. "Well, well, we'll see. But I warn you, child, I'm not going to let you come to harm." Lavinia laughed and shrugged her plump shoulders. After what she had gone through the night before she felt she could face anything. She knew she could talk over the good-natured Hannah and she heard the latter lock the door without feeling much troubled. For all that Lavinia had a good deal to worry about, and she sat sipping the chocolate while she pondered over what she should do. She could think of no one she could go to besides Mr. Gay. How would he receive her after her escapade? "He knows so many play actors," she murmured,--"didn't he say I had a stage face? I wonder--I wonder." And still wondering she rose and straightened the bed. Shifting the pillow she found beneath it the purse she had placed there before going to sleep. Excitement and exhaustion had driven it out of her head. She felt quite remorseful when the remembrance of the chivalrous young man came into her mind. "Ah me," she sighed. "I'll warrant I'll never set eyes on him again. I do hope he wasn't hurt." Lavinia looked at the purse wistfully. She had not had the opportunity of seeing what it contained. It was of silk with a silver ring at each end to keep the contents safe, and an opening between the rings. One end had money in it, in the other a piece of paper crackled. She slipped the ring at the money end over the opening and took out the coins--a guinea, a crown and a shilling. "I don't like taking it. He gave it me to pay the waterman and I hadn't the chance. It isn't mine. I ought to return it to him. But how can I? I don't know where he lives. I don't even know his name." Then she fingered the other end. She slid the ring but hesitated to do more. To look at the paper seemed like prying into the owner's affairs. It must be something precious for him to carry it about with him. Suppose it was a love letter from his sweetheart? She blushed at the idea. Then curiosity was roused. Her fingers crept towards the papers, for there were two. One ran thus:-- "The Duke's Theatre, "Lincoln's Inn Fields. "SIR,-- "I have read your play and herewith return it. I doubt not it has merit but it will not suit me. "I am your obedient humble servant, Lancelot Vane, Esq. "JOHN RICH." "Poor fellow--so he writes plays. How aggravating to have such a rude letter. 'Obedient--humble--servant,' forsooth! I hate that John Rich. He's a bear."