"She's up there, I tell yer," said one. "Not her! It's a ghost." "Her 'usband's ghost, then." "But vere's a chap 'ere wot sore 'er fice to fice in the next street; an' followed 'er and 'eard the door go; an' w'en 'e come back wiv 'is pals, vere was vat light." "Let's 'ave 'er aht of it." "Yuss, she ain't no right there." "No; the condemned cell's the plice for 'er!" "Give us a stone afore the copper comes!" And Rachel saw the first stone flung, and heard the first glass break; and within a very few minutes there was not a whole pane left in the front of the house; but that was all the damage which Rachel herself saw done. A hand touched her lightly on the shoulder. "Do you still pin your faith to the man in the street?" said a voice. And, though she had heard it for the first time that very evening, it was a voice that Rachel seemed to have known all her life. CHAPTER VI A PERIPATETIC PROVIDENCE "Do you still pin your faith to the man in the street?" It was Mr. Steel who stood at Rachel's elbow, repeating his question word for word; but he did not repeat it in the same tone. There was an earnest note in the lowered voice, an unspoken appeal to her to admit the truth and be done with proud pretence. And indeed the pride had gone out of Rachel at sight of him; a delicious sense of safety filled her heart instead. She was as one drowning, and here was a strong swimmer come to her rescue in the nick of time. What did it matter who or what he was? She felt that he was strong to save. Yet, as the nearly drowned do struggle with their saviours, so Rachel must fence instinctively with hers. "I never did pin my faith to him," said she. "Yet see the risk that you are running! If he turns round--if any one of them turns round and recognizes you--listen to that!" It was only the second window, but a third and a fourth followed like shots from the same revolver. Rachel winced. "For God's sake, come away!" he whispered, sternly. And Rachel did come a few yards before a flicker of her spirit called a halt. "Why should I run away?" she demanded, in sudden tears of mortification and of weakness combined. "I am innocent--so why should I?" "Because they don't like innocent people; and there appear to be no police in these parts; and if you fall into their hands--well, it would be better for you if you had been found guilty and were safe and sound in Newgate now!" That was exactly what Rachel had felt herself; she took a few steps more, but still with reluctance and irresolution; and once round the nearest corner, and out of that hateful street for ever, she turned to her companion in unconcealed despair. "But what am I to do?" she cried. "But where am I to turn?" "Mrs. Minchin," said Steel, "can you not really trust me yet?"