Heart and brain sick, he crouched rigid. Here was horror of which he had never dreamt. But for the bars, he had made an entry at whatever danger to life and limb, stopped the horrid sacrilege. He could not look at it. Slithering from the wall, bruising himself in the descent, he gained the passage, made along it, and thence to his own chamber. Here he found his breath coming in deep sobs. “I had not known,” he said; and sank upon his knees. Shuddering he knelt there, knowing nothing of the passing of time. Horror had beaten upon his soul: his body was numbed. This was where his quest had brought him. Dazed and sick he found his strength spent. Steps passing his door brought him to himself. Wit in a measure returned, he saw that flight must be his with no delay. Then another thing struck him. He thought of the child he had seen. What an’ he had been trapped to this pass? Peregrine saw not his own flight without some assurance on this score. To leave the child were sheer cowardice. He waited; presently heard Menippus descend. A moment or so later the place lay in dead silence. Peregrine made for the door. No thought of honour held him now. He had his foot upon the turret stair, was up it in soft bounds. Atop he came upon a door, a staple pushed across it. To pull it back was but an instant’s work; the next, he had entered the chamber. The moonlight fell across the floor, and upon a couch. On the couch lay a boy, a small thin child. He started up on the sound of the opening door, turned a pitiful face, and great dark eyes towards it. “Yes?” he queried, alert, ready for bidding. Then on a sudden he shrank. “Who is it?” he asked fearfully. “Hush!” whispered Peregrine. “Ah, who is it?” pleaded the child frightened. “I am blind.” The pathetic utterance smote straight to Peregrine’s heart. “You poor little misery!” he ejaculated on a note of tenderness. “See here, listen well. I wish you no ill, naught but good. Bide you willingly here?” The boy fell to trembling. “Willingly? Ah, no!” “Was what you did this night willing service on your part?” asked Peregrine, striving to keep severity from his voice. “I know not what I did,” replied the boy. “I act as he bids me; I say words which he has taught me. Knowing not their meaning yet I dread to say them.” “That,” said Peregrine very low, “is well. Will you trust yourself to me?” “Sir,” replied the child, “I know not who you are. But, an’ your heart is like to your voice, I trust you very freely.” Peregrine smiled grimly. “We’ll leave my heart out of the question,” he said. “Truly it, or my own foolishness, has brought me to a pretty pass. Would you leave this place an’ you could?” The boy started from the couch. “You will take me from it! Ah, sir, sir!” Groping towards Peregrine he found his hand. Down on his knees he fell to kissing it with fervour. Peregrine hauled him to his feet.