wall.  The next instant he had crossed it, and at the hoarse cry, “Who’s there?” had glided rapidly down upon the other side.  The sentry’s gun was at his shoulder, and its sharp report rang through the silent night just as the convict reached the ground.  The starlight was just sufficient, as the warder subsequently swore (and truly), to see the man was hit; he staggered and fell, but crawled away directly, and was lost in the surrounding gloom.

At the same moment all the prison seemed to wake to light and life, and the alarm-bell clashed out its hoarse notes of warning on the wintry air.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

NEWS FROM LINGMOOR.

Mrs. Basil kept her word with her lodger, and (thanks to the chaplain) gave into his hand a catalogue of the great Crompton sale some hours at least before the details of it were made public; on the receipt of which Solomon at once left town.  His absence was felt to be a relief by all parties.  The work of ingratiating herself with his hard, coarse nature, independently of the personal loathing with which Mrs. Basil regarded him, on Richard’s account, was very hard, and rest was grateful to her.  Mrs. Coe was always more at ease when business took her husband from his home.  Charley hailed his departure, since he could now enjoy the society of his Agnes without stint.

He was, as usual, at Soho one morning, when Harry, sitting alone in the drawing-room, engaged in needle-work, was alarmed by a shrill shriek, followed by a heavy fall on the floor beneath, in Mrs. Basil’s parlor.  She had heard the front-door closed but a minute before, and the thought that was never wholly absent from her mind now flashed upon it with terrible distinctness—­the Avenger had come at last!  Her next hurried reflection was one of thankfulness that neither Charley nor Solomon was at home.  Then, pale and trembling, she stole out on the landing of the stairs, and listened intently.  Not a sound was to be heard save the throbs of her own fluttering breast.  The cook and the waiting-maid, who alone composed the domestic staff, had apparently not heard the noise; for the former was singing loudly in the kitchen, as was her wont when she had been “put out,” as happened some half dozen times per diem.  It was frightful to think that in yonder parlor her once-loved Richard might even then be closeted with his mother, deaf to her appeals for mercy, resolute for revenge, and only demanding where his enemies might be found:  it was better to face him than to picture him thus.  That his sudden appearance had terrified Mrs. Basil into a fit she had little doubt from that shriek and fall; and, indeed, all was now so still within there that she might be dead.  The fear for her offspring, however, made Harry almost bold.  Indeed, as has been said, she did not entertain any apprehension of personal violence at Richard’s hands; and, perhaps, in spite of Mrs. Basil’s assurance to the contrary,