They have adopted every means in their power to elude discovery; but George is nervous, and Bess shares his fears. Last night when they applied for a room at a little inn up by Hammersmith, the landlady stared at George and hesitated, and all night long they lay awake, fearing they heard the steps of the police on the stairs. To-night they dread to apply anywhere. So long as they can wander about in the parks and quiet places they feel safe. It is when night comes, and they must go between four walls, that the great terror comes. Thus it is that they are lingering on to-night in the park. George suggests presently that they shall move on a little, for a thick mist is falling. Just as they are rising to go they hear voices down by the water, the voices of men quarrelling, and something impels them to stay where they are and listen. They are quite alone in this part of the park; the night is too bitter for any to linger in such a spot. The mist has grown thicker and thicker, and they can see no forms, they can only hear the two voices in angry dispute. Presently there is a loud oath, then a crash, as of yielding ice, a splash and a cry, and then the sound of footsteps hurrying away through the fog. Bess clutches her husband’s arm and listens. ‘Help! help!’ It is a faint cry from the water’s edge, and the thick mist half drowns it. Forgetting his position, forgetting all save that perhaps a fellow-creature is in deadly peril, George Heritage runs in the direction of the sound. Bess follows him. He can hear a voice, and he can see two dark arms waving through the mist. ‘Where are you?’ he shouts. ‘Here! here! Help, for God’s sake, help!’ shouts the man in the water. ‘I cannot hold out! I’m going!—the water’s a-dragging of me down! Help! help!’ Quick as thought, Bess tears her shawl off, and gives it to her husband. ‘God have mercy on me!’ cries the man, struggling fiercely to raise himself above the crackling, treacherous ice. ‘Lord forgive me!’ At that moment George, clutching his wife’s hand firmly to support himself, throws the shawl across the thinly frozen water. With a wild despairing cry the man flings out his hand and clutches it. A moment more and he is dragged ashore. He is faint with exertion, and gasping, and he can scarcely stand. ‘Give me some brandy, quick!’ he murmurs. ‘The damned villain’s nearly put my light out—curse him!’ ‘Hush!’ cries George. ‘Thank God for your safety.’ Bess, trembling in every limb with terror, has been feeling in her pockct. Dreading lest George should fall ill, she had, like the loving, thoughtful little woman she always was, put a small bottle in her pocket, and had it filled in the morning. The half-drowned man seizes it, and gulps the contents down. Then he turns to his preserver and peers into his face. Directly he can discern his features he starts back. His teeth are still chattering with the shock of the immersion, as he gasps out, ‘George Heritage!’