Rachel Lake was one of those women who never lose their presence of mind, even under violent agitation, for long, and who generally, even when highly excited, see, and do instinctively, and with decision, what is best to be done; and now, with dilated eyes and white face, she walked noiselessly into the kitchen, listened there for a moment, then stole lightly to the servants' sleeping-room, and listened there at the door, and lastly looked in, and satisfied herself that both were still sleeping. Then as cautiously and swiftly she returned to her drawing-room, and closed the window-shutters and drew the curtain, and signalling to her brother they went stealthily forth into the night air, closing the hall-door, and through the little garden, at the outer gate of which they paused. 'I don't know, Rachel--I don't like it--I'm not fit for it. Go back again--go in and lock your door--we'll not go to him--_you_ need not, you know. He may stay where he is--let him--I'll not return. I say, I'll see him no more. I'll get away. I'll consult Larkin--shall I? Though that won't do--he's in Wylder's interest--curse him. What had I best do? I'm not equal to it.' 'We _must_ go, Stanley. You said right just now; be resolute--we are both ruined unless we go. You have brought it to that--you _must_ come.' 'I'm not fit for it, I tell you--I'm not. You were right, Radie--I think I'm not equal to a business of this sort, and I won't expose you to such a scene. _You're_ not equal to it either, I think,' and Lake leaned on the paling. 'Don't mind me--you haven't much hitherto. Go or stay, I'm equally ruined now, but not equally disgraced; and go we must, for it is _your only_ chance of escape. Come, Stanley--for shame!' In a few minutes more they were walking in deep darkness and silence, side by side, along the path, which diverging from the mill-road, penetrates the coppice of that sequestered gorge, along the bottom of which flows a tributary brook that finds its way a little lower down into the mill-stream. This deep gully in character a good deal resembles Redman's Glen, into which it passes, being fully as deep, and wooded to the summit at both sides, but much steeper and narrower, and therefore many shades darker. They had now reached those rude stone steps, some ten or fifteen in number, which conduct the narrow footpath up a particularly steep acclivity, and here Lake lost courage again, for they distinctly heard the footsteps that paced the platform above. CHAPTER XVIII. MARK WYLDER'S SLAVE. Nearly two hours had passed before they returned. As they did so, Rachel Lake went swiftly and silently before her brother. The moon had gone down, and the glen was darker than ever. Noiselessly they re-entered the little hall of Redman's Farm. The candles were still burning in the sitting-room, and the light was dazzling after the profound darkness in which they had been for so long.