Bess lay in a dead faint on the sofa, Mrs. Jarvis slapping her hands and bathing her face to bring her to, and Shakspeare, white as death, crying in a corner. Presently there was the sound of footsteps creeping cautiously down the stairs, and the next minute a man, his face ashy white, stole into the room. Bess opened her eyes and gave a loud hysterical cry. The next moment her head was on the man’s breast, and her lips were moving in thankfulness to heaven. It was George. The good showman had dressed himself in the convict’s clothes, which they had brought with them in the box, and the detective, who knew nothing except that he was an escaped convict, and had no knowledge of his age or appearance, had been caught in the trap. George had climbed through the trap-door that led to the roof, and lain concealed till the officers had gone. ‘We mustn’t stay here a minute,’ he cried, when Bess had recovered. ‘The trick will be found out directly he gets to the station, and they’ll be back here directly. I must go.’ ‘Not alone, George,’ cried Bess; ‘not alone. Let us be together while we can. Oh, George, away from you now I should die. Let me share your danger! Let me come with you!’ It was in vain that George pleaded. Bess would not hear of it. She would wander forth with him. She should know his fate then. The uncertainty would kill her. In a few minutes, well wrapped up with scarves and shawls, which the good-hearted Mrs. Jarvis insisted upon their taking, and with five sovereigns which she thrust into Bess’s hand as they were going, the convict and his wife stole cautiously out of the house, and harried away, intending to make for the outskirts, and trust to Providence for some means of leaving the country undetected. Bess wore a deep veil, and George, at Mrs. Jarvis’s suggestion, bought a pair of eye-protectors, and wore his scarf over his mouth, as though he had a bad cold. Thus disguised, and dressed in the loose, ill-fitting suit Mr. Jarvis had lent him in the morning, there was every possible chance of their eluding pursuit with ordinary caution. Shakspeare came up to the door as they were leaving, and put his arm round Bess’s neck and kissed her, and bade her goodbye. He knew her story now, and why she cried over those letters. ‘I wish I was as sure o’ heaven as I am o’ that young fellow’s hinnocence,’ exclaimed Mrs. Jarvis, as she tried to soothe Shakspeare, who was quite upset by his nurse’s tragic departure. ‘Innocent!’ exclaimed Shakspeare. ‘Do you think _she’d_ love him if he wasn’t? Ah, if I was only strong again, and a bit older, I’d soon prove it.’