Towards noon there was a soft knock at the front door, and Isaac--who had been planning with Eliza an immediate flight from the grief-stricken house, on the ground that, even if they lost their wages, it was no longer a place for them to stay at--opened it, and told the visitor that Miss Denville could see no one. "But me, young man," said the caller, quietly entering. "You need not say I'm here. I shall go up soon, and you have got to go on to my house for another basket like this, only bigger." She patted the one she carried--one which she had crammed with such things as she thought would be useful at such a time. Isaac gave way, allowed Mrs Barclay to go up to the drawing-room, and directly after called Eliza into his pantry to tell her that his mind was made up, and that they must go at once. Mrs Barclay did not hesitate for a moment, but went softly up to the bedroom, tapped gently, and turned the handle to enter on tip-toe. "I've only come to help, my dear," she said softly, as she clasped Claire in her arms. "We weren't quick enough, my dear," she whispered, "or we might have saved all this." There was no reply, and after a time, in respect to Claire's wishes, Mrs Barclay went downstairs. "I shall be there if you want me, my dear. Don't you go and think that you are left alone." Mrs Barclay had hardly seated herself in the dining-room, and taken some rather grubby work from her pocket, when she heard a peculiar noise, and the bump of something being placed heavily upon the floor. She listened, and heard some one ascend the stairs again, and there was a whispering, which ceased as the whisperers ascended, and then there was silence, and Mrs Barclay took a stitch, and thought and wondered whether Cora Dean would come, or whether the Denvilles would be cut by everyone now. Then she took another stitch, and nibbed her nose, which itched. "Poor little soul!" she said to herself, "it's come home to her at last. I never thought any good of her, but I'm not one to go on punishing those who've done wrong." Mrs Barclay took another stitch and began to think again. "Jo-si-ah says if they catch the little Italian fellow, he'll be transported for life, and if poor little Mrs Burnett dies, they'll hang him. Well, I don't hold with hanging people, so I hope she won't die." She took another stitch and drew the thread through very slowly. "Jo-si-ah says Sir Harry isn't very bad, and the constable and a magistrate have been to see him, but he says he knows nothing hardly about it. Poor Claire! What a house this is! What trouble!" She took another stitch. "I wonder whether Richard Linnell will come. I shall begin to hate him if he doesn't stand by the poor girl in her distress. He's a poor shilly-shally sort of a fellow, or he'd believe in her as I do." There was quite a vicious stitch here.