“It is after three now, nearly four, and will soon be dark.  We must hasten.”

We fairly ran to the Quaker’s house, where we found Hamilton, who, forgetting his sacred calling, lapsed into the unholy manner of former days and used language which caused Betty to cover her ears with her hands.  We did not, however, allow his profanity to delay us, but hastened to the Cross, expecting to take a coach for the Old Swan.  But none was to be found, so we went to the river, where we were compelled to take an open boat with a steersman and one oarsman.  We made poor headway, having to beat against the wind and the tide, so George and I each took an oar.  After a time the man at the steering oar said that he would row if George or I would steer the boat, but neither of us knew the river and therefore could not take his place.

Betty said that she knew the river, having kept a small boat since she was strong enough to lift an oar, so she took the steering oar, and with four sweeps out we sped along at a fine rate.  I shall never forget that water ride.  We seemed to be pulling uphill every fathom of the way.  The black, oily waves, with their teethlike crests of white, rose above our bow at every stroke of the sweeps, and when I looked behind me it seemed that we must surely be engulfed.

The snow, driven by the wind, swirled in angry blasts, and the damp, cold air chilled us to the bone.  Our greatest danger would be when we came to land at the Bridge stairs, for the tide was pouring in through the arches of the Bridge and was falling in a great cataract just below the foot of the stairs.  One false stroke of Betty’s steering oar when we came to land, and our boat would be swamped.  But she clung to the oar and brought us safely to the stairs within a fathom of the breakers.

We ran up Gracious Street and found the girl waiting in Betty’s parlor.  But Betty had told us all there was to be learned, so we gave the girl a few shillings and sent her home.

“What shall we do?” asked Betty, feeling that she had earned a right to couple herself with Hamilton and me by the pronoun “we.”

“I’ll go to see Lilly,” said Hamilton.  “He lives in the Strand, not far from Temple Bar.”

“Why do you wish to see him?” I asked.

“He will tell us where Frances is and how to find her.  Will you go with me?” asked Hamilton.

“Certainly,” I responded, though I considered the visit a waste of time.

“May I, too, go?” asked Betty, with the double motive, doubtless, of helping and seeing.  Lilly, engaged in his incantations, would be an inspiring sight to her.

“No, no, you may not go with us,” answered Hamilton.

Betty’s eyes looked up to me entreatingly, so I took up her cause, and suggested:—­

“Lilly may want to question her about what the girl said.”

“You are right,” returned George.  “Wrap yourself up well, Betty, and come along.  We’ll take a coach to Lilly’s.”