"There, Jeremiah, you can't have the gentleman saying fairer than that." Here the sharp little woman nudged her husband's arms. This was a hint for him to swallow his scruples and take the sovereign. Jeremiah agreed, and shortly the sovereign was in his pocket and he was leading George to a back upstairs room. "We'd have put her in the best parlor," he said, "as I always like to make 'em comfortable. But she'd have run away, so we was obliged to keep her in the room with the bars on the window." "Poor Lola," thought George, as he conjured up the small stuffy room and the barred window. But the room was not so comfortless as Jeremiah stated, thanks to Mrs. Policeman. It was small, certainly, but it was neatly furnished as a bed-sitting-room. The window was certainly barred, but there was no other sign that it was a prison cell. Before introducing George to this abode, it struck Jeremiah that the prisoner had been inquired for as "the young lady." He stopped Brendon at the door. "Might you know her name, sir?" "Of course I know it," replied George, promptly. "Don't you?" "Now I do," said Jeremiah, with a heavy nod, "but it was a rare time afore she'd speak. My missus got it out of her. Loler Veal it is, she says, and she's by way of being on the stage." "She is the most celebrated dancer in London, and her name is Lola Velez," said George. "I don't suppose she'll be punished much for this. She's mad at times." "Oh, if she's mad she'll get off lightly, but them parish register to be torn--it's bad work that. My father were a sexton," explained Jeremiah, soberly. "And naturally you think Mademoiselle Velez has committed the most atrocious of crimes. But don't stand chattering here, my good fellow. I have to return by the nine train." "I'll wait outside," said Jeremiah, on whom Brendon's generosity and peremptory manner had made an impression, "but you won't give her poison, or knives, or that, sir?" George laughed. "No. She is the last person to use them if I did supply her with such articles." "She's a lively young woman," said the policeman, and slowly unlocked the door. George was admitted, and then Jeremiah, so as to give the lovers--as he thought them--an opportunity of meeting unobserved, retired, locking the door after him. Lola and George were together. She was seated by the window staring out into the darkness. On the table was a small lamp, and a fire burned in the grate. Lola started up when the door closed again. "Who is--who is?" she asked in her rapid way, and came toward him. "Lola," began George, but he got no further. She ran forward and flung herself with tears at his feet, clutching his legs and wailing: "Oh, my dear one, hast thou come in anger? Trample me, make me as earth, beloved, but be not enraged--ah, no--ah, no!" "Lola. Get up and don't be a fool," said Brendon, speaking roughly to brace her nerves.