In the first ten minutes of the new life which Rachel Minchin began with her acquittal, she had refused to see her own solicitor, and an unknown gentleman whose card was brought to her by the Chief Warder himself.  With the card was a message which might have inspired confidence, and the same might be said of the address.  But it was enough for Rachel that she knew no one of the name.  The Chief Warder, one of the kindliest mortals, displayed no little irritation under her repeated refusals; but it was the agent, and not the principal, who was so importunate; and the message was not repeated once the former could be induced to bear Mrs. Minchin’s answer.  The Chief Warder did indeed return, but it was not to make any further reference to the mysterious Mr. Steel who had craved an interview with Mrs. Minchin.  And now the good fellow was all smiles.

“Feeling more yourself?” said he; and, when Rachel said she was, he asked her to listen now; and there was nothing to listen to.  “The coast’s as clear as the Criminal Court,” explained this pleasant official.  “A closed cab did it, with an officer on the box; and I’ll call you another as soon as you like.”

Rachel rose at once.

“It was kind of you to let me stay so long,” she said.  “But I don’t think I will take a cab, thank you, if there’s an underground station within reach, and you will kindly tell me the way.”

“There’s Blackfriars Bridge within five minutes.  But you will have more than you can carry—­”

“I have nothing worth taking away with me,” said Rachel, “except the things I stand up in; but you may give what I leave to any poor woman who cares to have them.  And I hope you will accept this trifle for yourself, with my deep gratitude for all your kindness.”

Indeed, the man had been kind, and his kindness would have continued to the last had the trial ended differently.  Nevertheless, Rachel’s trifle was a piece of gold, and one of her last.  Nor was this pure generosity.  There was an untold joy in being able to give again.  It was the first real taste of freedom; and in another minute Rachel was free.

Oh, but what a miracle to hear her feet on the now deserted pavement, to see her breath in the raw November night, and the lights of Ludgate Hill beyond!  Rachel raised her veil to see them better.  Who would look for her afoot so near the scene of her late ordeal?  And what did it matter who saw her and who knew her now?  She was innocent; she could look the whole world in the face once more.  Oh, to rub shoulders with the world again!

A cab came tinkling up behind her, and Rachel half thought of hailing it, and driving through the lighted town after all; but the hansom was occupied, and the impulse passed.  She put down her veil and turned into the stream without catching a suspicious eye.  Why should they suspect her?  And again, what did it matter if they did?

“Trial an’ verdic’!  Trial an’ verdic’!  Acquittal o’ Mrs. Minchin!  Trial an’ verdic’!”