She had heard a quick light thud upon the pavement, and then the rapid feet of some one running. Almost before she had had time to collect her thoughts, or to decide whether to hide again, or show herself, a figure dashed straight towards her, down the street, in the shadow of the wall. Some instinct causing her to spring out, the figure stopped, drawn straight up against the wall, and then slowly crossed towards her. The next moment her hands were in those of Philip Chater. She had time, before he spoke, to notice that the hands which held hers were cut and bleeding; that he panted heavily, as though after some terrible exertion; and that he was covered with dust and lime-wash, and was hatless. “Show me the way,” he panted. “Hide me somewhere—quick!” She hurried on with him, while he crouched in the shadow of the houses, so that her figure might cover him as much as possible. They had scarcely more than a hundred yards to go, before she put her key swiftly in the lock of a door—drew him through, and shut it behind her. Bidding him, in a whisper, wait where he was, in the darkness of the passage, she softly opened the door of a lighted room, and went in. Now it happened that evening, that Captain Peter Quist was in a great state of excitement. He had completed, that very day, the purchase of an absolutely ideal circus; a circus in full working order, the proprietor of which was only anxious to pass it into the hands of its new owner, and retire into private life. The delighted Captain had discovered that his new property consisted of three or four well-fitted caravans—a few small tents, together with one huge one for the accommodation of his audiences—and some waggons, with the necessary fittings for the concern. Horses—performing and otherwise—there were in abundance; and the Captain had already been assured that the male and female staff was only too ready to accept service under him. And the proprietor, having expressed a desire that Quist should see the show in working order, and be initiated into its mysteries gradually, the Captain, at the very moment of Clara’s entrance into the room, was busily engaged in packing a few articles which he considered proper and appropriate to his new standing in life. The chief of these articles consisted of a high and very glossy silk hat, which was at that moment perched upon the Captain’s head; and a pair of Wellington boots, as glossy in appearance as the hat, and into which the Captain was struggling. Indeed, he had just got them on, and was very red in the face from his exertions, when Clara darted in. Before she had had time to utter a word, Mrs. Quist—who had been regarding her lord and master with an expression half of admiration, half of contempt—turned towards Clara, with a view to relieving her feelings.