nd miles right away to the West-End. So he never looks behind
him, nor he never stops, o' course, till he comes to Belgrave Square;
and he turns down a street as I couldn't read its name, but should
know it again as well as I know my own hand. And then, Master Tom, if
you'll believe me, I thought as I must have dropped."

"Well?" said Tom, not prepared to be satisfied with this climax,
though his companion stopped, as if she had got to the end of her
disclosures.

"Well indeed!" resumed Dorothea, after a considerable interval, "when
he come that far, I know'd as he must be up to some of his games, and
I watched. They lets him into a three-storied house, and I sees him in
the best parlour with a lady, speaking up to her, but not half so bold
as usual. He a not often dashed, Jim isn't. I will say that for him."

"What sort of a lady?" asked Tom, quivering with excitement. "You took
a good look at her, I'll be bound!"

"Well, a real lady in a muslin dress," answered Dorothea. "A tall
young lady--not much to boast of for looks, but with hair as black as
your hat and a face as white as cream. Very 'aughty too an' arbitrary,
and seemed to have my Jim like quite at her command. So from where I
stood I couldn't help hearing everything that passed. My Jim, he gives
her the very letter as laid in your pocket that night, as you--as you
was taken so poorly, you know. And from what she said and what he
said, and putting this and that together, I'm sure as they got you out
of the way between them, Master Tom, and gammoned me into the job too,
when I'd rather have cut both my hands off, if I'd only known the
truth."

Tom sat back on his sofa, shutting his eyes that he might concentrate
his powers of reflection. Yes, it was all clear enough at last. The
nature and origin of the outrage to which he had been subjected were
obvious, nor could he entertain any further doubt of Maud's motives,
though marvelling exceedingly, as well he might, at her courage, her
recklessness, and the social standing of her accomplice. It seemed
to him as if he could forgive every one concerned but her. This poor
woman who had fairly thrown herself on his mercy: the ruffian whose
grip had been at his throat, but who might hereafter prove as
efficient an ally as he had been a formidable enemy. Only let him have
Maud in his power, that was all he asked, praying him to spare her,
kneeling at his feet, and then without a shade of compunction to ruin,
and cr