Facing me was a narrow gateway leading to a house that stood somewhat back from the street, as if slipping away from between the lines of shops that wedg’d it in on either hand. Over the grill a link was burning. I stepp’d from the coach, open’d the gate, and crossing the small court, rang at the house bell. At first there was no answer. I rang again: and now had the satisfaction to hear a light footfall coming. A bolt was pull’d and a girl appear’d holding a candle high in her hand. Quick as thought, I stepped past her into the passage. “Delia!” “Jack!” “Hist! Close the door. Where is Mistress Finch?” “Upstairs, expecting Colonel Essex. Oh, the happy day! Come—” she led me into a narrow back room and setting down the light regarded me—“Jack, my eyes are red for thee!” “I see they are. To-morrow I was to be hang’d.” She put her hands together, catching her breath: and very lovely I thought her, in her straight grey gown and Puritan cap. “They have been questioning me. Didst get my letter?” The answer was on my lip when there came a sound that made us both start. ’Twas the dull echo of a gun firing, up at the Castle. “Delia, what lies at the back here?” “A garden and a garden door: after these a lane leading to Redcliff Street.” “I must go, this moment.” “And I?” She did not wait my answer, but running out into the passage, she came swiftly back with a heavy key. I open’d the window. “Delia! De-lia!” ’Twas a woman’s voice calling her, at the head of the stairs. “Aye, Mistress Finch.” “Who was that at the door?” I sprang into the garden and held forth a hand to Delia. “In one moment, mistress!” call’d she, and in one moment was hurrying with me across the dark garden beds. As she fitted the key to the garden gate, I heard the voice again. “De-lia!” ’Twas drown’d in a—wild _rat-a-tat!_ on the street door, and the shouts of many voices. We were close press’d. “Now, Jack—to the right for our lives! Ah, these clumsy skirts!” We turn’d into the lane and rac’d down it. For my part, I swore to drown myself in Avon rather than let those troopers retake me. I heard their outcries about the house behind us, as we stumbled over the frozen rubbish heaps with which the lane was bestrewn. “What’s our direction?” panted I, catching Delia’s hand to help her along. “To the left now—for the river.” We struck into a narrow side street; and with that heard a watchman bawl— “_Past nine o’ the night, an’ a—!_” The shock of our collision sent him to finish his say in the gutter. “Thieves!” he yell’d. But already we were twenty yards away, and now in a broader street, whereof one side was wholly lin’d with warehouses. And here, to our dismay, we heard shouts behind, and the noise of feet running.