But the horses pulled bravely, the noise and the flood were left behind, and a bit of ascending road brought the travellers on to dry land again.

The carriage stopped.  The two labourers who had guided them approached the window, which Melrose had let down.

“Yo’ll do now!” they shouted with cheerful faces.  “You’ve nobbut to do but keep straight on, an’ yo’ll be at t’ Tower in a coople o’ miles.”

“Thank you, my men, thank you.  Here’s a drink for you,” said Melrose, stretching out his hand.

The foremost labourer took the coin and held it to the lantern.  He burst into rough laughter.

“Saxpence!  My word, Jim!—­here’s a gentleman wot’s free wi’ his muny.  Saxpence!  Two men—­and two lanterns—­fur t’ best part of a mile!  We’re goin’ cheap to-night, Jim.  Gude meet to yer, sir, an’ next time yo’ may droon for me!”

“Saxpence!” The lad behind also applied his lantern to the coin.  “Gie it me, Bob!” And raising it with a scornful gesture he flung it into the river.  Then standing still, with their hands on their hips, the light from the lanterns on the ground breaking over their ruddy rain-washed faces, they poured out a stream of jeers in broad Cumbrian, from which the coachman, angrily urged on by Melrose, escaped as quickly as he could.

“Insolent boors!” said Melrose as men and flood disappeared from view.  “What did we want with them after all?  It was only a device for bleeding us.”

Mrs. Melrose awoke from her trance of terror with a quavering breath.  She did not understand what had passed, nor a word of what the labourers had said; and in her belief over the peril escaped, and her utter fatigue, she gave the child to Anastasia, lay back, and closed her eyes.  A sudden and blessed sleep fell upon her for a few minutes; from which she was roused all too soon by grating wheels and strange voices.

“Here we are, Netta—­look alive!” said Melrose.  “Put something round the child, Anastasia.  We have to walk through this court.  No getting up to the door.  Find some umbrellas!”

The two women and the child descended.  From the open house-door figures came hurrying down a flagged path, through an untidy kitchen garden, to the gate in a low outer wall in front of which the carriage had drawn up.

Netta Melrose grasped the nurse’s arm, and spoke in wailing Italian, as she held an umbrella over the child.

“What a place, Anastasia!—­what a place!  It looks like a prison!  I shall die here—­I know I shall!”

Her terrified gaze swept over the old red sandstone house rising dark and grim against the storm, and over the tangled thickets of garden dank with rain.

But the next moment she was seized by the strong hands of Mrs. Dixon and Thyrza, who half led, half carried, her into the hall of the Tower, while Dixon and young Tyson did the same for the nurse and baby.

* * * * *