“I’ll tell you. I’m going to move. That’s what all these boxes are for. Everything will soon be packed and ready. I ’ave friends at Leeds, and I shall be safer there. Not safe, mind you, but safer. I start to-morrow evening, and if you will stand by me until then I will make it worth your while. There’s only Enoch and me to do everything, but we shall ’ave it all ready, I promise you, by to-morrow evening. The cart will be round then, and you and me and Enoch and the boy William can guard the things as far as Congleton station. Did you see anything of them on the fells?” “Yes,” said I; “a sailor stopped us on the way.” “Ah, I knew they were watching us. That was why I asked you to get out at the wrong station and to drive to Purcell’s instead of comin’ ’ere. We are blockaded—that’s the word.” “And there was another,” said I, “a man with a pipe.” “What was ’e like?” “Thin face, freckles, a peaked——” My uncle gave a hoarse scream. “That’s ’im! that’s ’im! ’e’s come! God be merciful to me, a sinner!” He went click-clacking about the room with his great foot like one distracted. There was something piteous and baby-like in that big bald head, and for the first time I felt a gush of pity for him. “Come, uncle,” said I, “you are living in a civilized land. There is a law that will bring these gentry to order. Let me drive over to the county police-station to-morrow morning and I’ll soon set things right.” But he shook his head at me. “E’s cunning and ’e’s cruel,” said he. “I can’t draw a breath without thinking of him, cos ’e buckled up three of my ribs. ’e’ll kill me this time, sure. There’s only one chance. We must leave what we ’ave not packed, and we must be off first thing to-morrow mornin’. Great God, what’s that!” A tremendous knock upon the door had reverberated through the house and then another and another. An iron fist seemed to be beating upon it. My uncle collapsed into his chair. I seized a gun and ran to the door. “Who’s there?” I shouted. There was no answer. I opened the shutter and looked out. No one was there. And then suddenly I saw that a long slip of paper was protruding through the slit of the door. I held it to the light. In rude but vigorous handwriting the message ran:— “Put them out on the doorstep and save your skin.” “What do they want?” I asked, as I read him the message. “What they’ll never ’ave! No, by the Lord, never!” he cried, with a fine burst of spirit. “’Ere, Enoch! Enoch!” The old fellow came running to the call. “Enoch, I’ve been a good master to you all my life, and it’s your turn now. Will you take a risk for me?” I thought better of my uncle when I saw how readily the man consented. Whomever else he had wronged, this one at least seemed to love him.