Accordingly, quite late at night, when all the people connected with the circus were sleeping, he started to make his escape. He had absolutely refused to occupy the caravan originally intended for him, because he knew that, by so doing, the Captain and Mrs. Quist would be rendered practically homeless; after much contention about the matter, it had been arranged that he should sleep in a rough tent, and in the company of the melancholy one. And, on this night, he lay wide awake in the darkness, listening to the heavy breathing of that gentleman, and striving to make up his mind what course to pursue, when once he should be clear of the little encampment. Fortunately, the melancholy man was a heavy sleeper, and Philip was able to creep past him, and get out of the tent, under the stars, without rousing him or any one else. Standing there, in the silence of the night, with only those faint points of light glimmering and winking above him, and no sound all about, save the distant barking of a dog, Philip wondered what he should do—to what point of the compass he should turn. So far as he knew, he stood absolutely alone, with all his battles still to fight. But even now, with a full knowledge of the dangers through which he had passed, and the dangers he had still to face, Bamberton—the scene of all his troubles—drew him like a magnet. The circus had moved on, some fifteen miles to the westward of the village; but Philip had kept careful note of the route taken, and was able to set out at once, by the most direct road. There was but small fear of his meeting any one, in the middle of the night; but, for all that, he was watchful and suspicious of every sound. He made straight for the Chater Arms, and reached it at about five o’clock in the morning; lying concealed at a little distance, he waited until he saw Betty herself throw open her window, and show her blooming face to the fresh morning sun; creeping near, he signalled to her, and in a few moments she appeared at the door leading into the yard, and beckoned to him. Before a word was spoken, she drew him inside, and hugged him in her hearty fashion, and wept a little in quite a womanly one. “Clara is with you?” was his first question. “Yes—an’ as well as well. But, my dear boy, wot brings yer back to Bamberton?” Philip hurriedly explained his reasons for leaving Captain Quist—reasons which Betty cordially approved. “You won’t need to worry yerself a bit, deary,” she said—“’cos that there idjut Tokely ’as took ’isself back to Scotland Yard—an’ there ain’t nobody in the ’ouse, ’cept a drunken little wretch wot seems to ’ave plenty of money, an’ is goin’ on in a fair way to empty my bar. An’ of all the strange things”—she stopped suddenly, and looked at Philip, and clapped her hands together; “Phil, dear lad,—to think that you an’ ’im should ’ave come together, at this time, in this place, an’ with ole Betty under the same roof!”