‘Don’t you fret, my boy,’ answered Mrs. Jarvis. ‘It’ll all come right yet, like it does in the dramas. You mark my words. Wirtue’s always triumphant in the last act, and I shouldn’t be at all surprised if that act ain’t the next in this here drama o’ “The Conwick’s Wife,” though what’ll happen to your poor father as is playing the low-comedy business in it just now, Goodness only knows!’ CHAPTER LVI. A RESCUE. Twelve o’clock has chimed from Big Ben, and Hyde Park is deserted. It is a cold winter night, and the snow lies upon London’s open spaces. It has been freezing hard all day, but the ice on the Serpentine is not thick enough to bear the great army of skaters yet, and so there are no loiterers along the bank. Here and there, eluding as best they can the bull’s-eye of the policeman who saunters along on his round, lie the miserable homeless wretches who creep into the London parks and stretch their weary limbs out for a while upon the seats. On one of these seats sit, or rather crouch, a man and a woman. The man is speaking. ‘Bess, my darling, leave me,’ he says. ‘Leave me. I can shift for myself. Go back to the Jarvises—they will give you shelter, and I will contrive to let you know from time to time where I am.’ ‘No, George dear,’ answers the woman, ‘I will not leave you. Come what may, I will stay with you. I could not rest, knowing that at any moment you might be discovered and taken back again to that dreadful place. Something tells me to hope—to hope that our troubles may yet pass away, and we may find peace at last.’ ‘In the grave—nowhere else,’ answers the man sorrowfully. ‘I am branded. I am something to be hunted like a beast. Every man’s hand is against me. I am an escaped convict.’ ‘Hush, hush!’ whispers the woman. ‘Do not speak so loud; some one may hear you.’ ‘Where are we to sleep to-night says the man presently. ‘You can’t wander about again such a bitter night as this.’ The woman does not answer. She is wondering what they are to do. They are not starving, these people, and they are warmly wrapped up; nor are they penniless, for Mrs. Jarvis had not only slipped some money into Bess’s hand, but told her to come for more if they wanted it. They could afford to pay for a lodging; but where are they to go? Everywhere the man is terrified lest questions should be asked, lest he should be recognised. The news of his escape is far and wide, his description is advertised in the papers; for days they have been wandering about, Bess going into the shops and buying the food, and at night they have been sleeping in out-of-the-way parts of London, entering late at night into the lodging-houses, and George keeping his face tied up as though he had a bad cold.