Clara repeated it; and the Captain gradually came out of his corner, and approached her slowly. “Look ’ere, my lass,” he said; “I’ve ’ad a shock over that there name—an’ I’m a bit upset with it. A friend o’ mine sailed under that name—an’ it proved too much for ’im—or summink did. Leastways—’e’s dead. So I don’t want nuffink more to do with no Chaters; I’d sooner ’elp a Smith or Jones than a Chater.” Gradually, however, the Captain’s uneasiness wore away; he began to take a lively interest in the girl, and in her story; and went out, that very afternoon, to ascertain if it were possible for her to visit the prisoner, and at what hours. He returned, with the gratifying intelligence that she might go to the prison on the next morning; and poor Clara slept happily enough that night, with that blessed prospect before her. The Captain, too, was in better spirits than he had been for some time past—a letter having reached him through the post, which seemed to promise a definite solution of his difficulties, in regard to finding a circus at last. The only drawback to it seemed to be, that there were no fat ladies attached to it—although, perhaps, in view of Mrs. Quist, this was not altogether a subject for sorrow. It was with a trembling heart that Clara presented herself next day at the door which the Captain pointed out to her. But everyone with whom she came in contact seemed willing to help her—even anxious to be of service; and she was passed on, from one to the other, until at last she was directed to the room where he was actually waiting. “You’d better wait a minute, Miss,” said a warder—“there’s someone with him.” The door opened at the same moment, and a brisk-looking young gentleman came out, thrusting some papers in his pocket as he did so. Seeing a young girl drawn up timidly against the wall, he stopped—hesitated a moment—and then turned towards her. “You’re young for such a place as this, girl,” he said, sharply but kindly. “Are you going to see Chater?” “Yes, sir.” She was scarcely able to speak for nervousness. The young man came nearer, and whispered exultantly, “Splendid case—they’re proud of it even here. And I think we shall pull him out of it—I do, indeed.” “Oh—I am so glad to hear you say so, sir,” said the girl, gratefully. “Yes—I think he’s all right; I shall try everything. The only difficulty is that he’s so close about it that I can get nothing out of him. But—won’t he make a lovely prisoner; we shan’t be able to get into Court for the petticoats!” The young man walked briskly away, and Clara passed into the room. The warder who had brought her to the door, and who had stood aside, while the young barrister spoke, opened the door, and followed her in. Another warder, who had been lounging near a high barred window, glanced at her for a moment; and then she felt her hands grasped by those of Philip Chater. “My child! How do you come to be here? Are you alone?”