“If you please, Sir, I’m going to bed.”

“Off with you, then, and I’ll not forget the gown at Christmas.  You’re a sharp young woman, and I’m much obliged to you.”  And for a moment he looked as if he were about to make the usual unmannerly acknowledgment of civility from a young gentleman to a servant maid, viz., kissing her, but he pulled a face and drew back.  He really couldn’t; she was so very plain.  At this moment there came a violent ring, and “Fire!” was shouted through the key-hole of the door.  Terrified, Elizabeth opened it, when, with a burst of laughter, a man rushed in and laid hands upon Ascott.

It was the sheriff’s officer.

When his trouble came upon him Ascott’s manliness returned.  He turned very white, but he made no opposition; had even enough of his wits about him—­or something better than wits—­to stop Mrs. Jones from rushing up in alarm and indignation to arouse Miss Leaf.

“No; she’ll know it quite soon enough.—­Let her sleep till morning.  Elizabeth, look here.”  He wrote upon a card the address of the place he was to be taken to.  “Give Aunt Hilary this.  Say if she can think of a way to get me out of this horrid mess; but I don’t deserve—­Never mind.  Come on, you fellows.”

He pulled his hat over his eyes, jumped into the cab, and was gone.  The whole thing had not occupied five minutes.

Stupefied, Elizabeth stood and considered what was best to be done.  Miss Hilary must be told; but how to get at her in the middle of the night, thereby leaving her mistress to the mercy of Mrs. Jones.  It would never do.  Suddenly she thought of Miss Balquidder.—­She might send a message.  No, not a message—­for the family misery and disgrace must not be betrayed to a stranger—­but a letter to Kensington.  With an effort Elizabeth composed herself sufficiently to write one—­her first—­to her dear Miss Hilary.

“Honored madam,—­Mr. Leaf has got himself into trouble, and is taken away somewhere; and I dare not tell missis; and I wish you was at home, as she is not well, but better than she has been, and she shall know nothing about it till you come.—­Your obedient and affectionate servant, Elizabeth hand.”

Taking Ascott’s latch-key she quitted the house and slipped out into the dark night, almost losing her way among the gloomy squares, where she met not a creature except the solitary policeman, plashing steadily along the wet pavement.  When he turned the glimmer of his bull’s eye upon her she started like a guilty creature, till she remembered that she really was doing nothing wrong, and so need not be afraid of any thing.  This was her simple creed, which Miss Hilary had taught her, and it upheld her, even till she knocked at Miss Balquidder’s door.  There, poor girl, her heart sank, especially when Miss Balquidder, in an anomalous costume and a severe voice, opened the door herself, and asked who was there, disturbing a respectable family at this late hour?