“Don’t you want me to be punished?” inquired the other, in a soft voice.

“I think that you had better go while you can,” said the girl, and at that moment there was a heavy knock at the front-door.  Mr. Catesby, despite his assurance, changed colour; the girl eyed him in perplexity.  Then she opened the small folding-doors at the back of the room.

“You’re only—­stupid,” she whispered.  “Quick!  Go in there.  I’ll say you’ve gone.  Keep quiet, and I’ll let you out by-and-by.”

She pushed him in and closed the doors.  From his hiding-place he heard an animated conversation at the street-door and minute particulars as to the time which had elapsed since his departure and the direction he had taken.

“I never heard such impudence,” said Mrs. Truefitt, going into the front-room and sinking into a chair after the constable had taken his departure.  “I don’t believe he was mad.”

“Only a little weak in the head, I think,” said Prudence, in a clear voice.  “He was very frightened after you had gone; I don’t think he will trouble us again.”

“He’d better not,” said Mrs. Truefitt, sharply.  “I never heard of such a thing—­never.”

She continued to grumble, while Prudence, in a low voice, endeavoured to soothe her.  Her efforts were evidently successful, as the prisoner was, after a time, surprised to hear the older woman laugh—­at first gently, and then with so much enjoyment that her daughter was at some pains to restrain her.  He sat in patience until evening deepened into night, and a line of light beneath the folding-doors announced the lighting of the lamp in the front-room.  By a pleasant clatter of crockery he became aware that they were at supper, and he pricked up his ears as Prudence made another reference to him.

“If he comes to-morrow night while you are out I sha’n’t open the door,” she said.  “You’ll be back by nine, I suppose.”

Mrs. Truefitt assented.

“And you won’t be leaving before seven,” continued Prudence.  “I shall be all right.”

Mr. Catesby’s face glowed and his eyes grew tender; Prudence was as clever as she was beautiful.  The delicacy with which she had intimated the fact of the unconscious Mrs. Truefitt’s absence on the following evening was beyond all praise.  The only depressing thought was that such resourcefulness savoured of practice.

He sat in the darkness for so long that even the proximity of Prudence was not sufficient amends for the monotony of it, and it was not until past ten o’clock that the folding-doors were opened and he stood blinking at the girl in the glare of the lamp.

“Quick!” she whispered.

Mr. Catesby stepped into the lighted room.

“The front-door is open,” whispered Prudence.  “Make haste.  I’ll close it.”

She followed him to the door; he made an ineffectual attempt to seize her hand, and the next moment was pushed gently outside and the door closed behind him.  He stood a moment gazing at the house, and then hastened back to his ship.