‘Will you come, sir?’

‘Step ahead.’

Madge set forth to north of the square.

He judged of the well-favoured girl that she could steer her way through cities:  mouth and brows were a warning to challenger pirate craft of a vessel carrying guns; and the red lips kept their firm line when they yielded to the pressure for speech.

’It’s a distance.  She’s quite safe, no harm; she’s a prisoner; she’s well fed; she’s not ill treated.’

’You ‘re out?’

’That’s as it happens.  I’m lucky in seeing you early.  He don’t mean to hurt her; he won’t be beaten.  All she asks is ten minutes with him.  If he would!—­he won’t.  She didn’t mean to do him offence t’ other night in that place—­you’ve heard.  Kit Ines told me he was on duty there—­going.  She couldn’t help speaking when she had eyes on her husband.  She kisses the ground of his footsoles, you may say, let him be ever so unkind.  She and I were crossing to the corner of Roper Street a rainy night, on way to Mile End, away down to one of your father’s families, Mother Davis and her sick daughter and the little ones, and close under the public-house Goat and Beard we were seized on and hustled into a covered carriage that was there, and they drove sharp.  She ’s not one to scream.  We weren’t frightened.  We both made the same guess.  They drove us to the house she ‘s locked in, and me, too, up till three o’clock this morning.’

‘You’ve seen nobody, Madge?’

’He ’s fixed she ’s to leave London, Mr. Woodseer.  I’ve seen Kit Ines.  And she ’s to have one of the big houses to her use.  I guessed Kit Ines was his broom.  He defends it because he has his money to make—­and be a dirty broom for a fortune!  But any woman’s sure of decent handling with Kit Ines—­not to speak of lady.  He and a mate guard the house.  An old woman cooks.’

‘He guards the house, and he gave you a pass?’

’Not he.  His pride’s his obedience to his “paytron”—­he calls his master, and won’t hear that name abused.  We are on the first floor; all the lower doors are locked day and night.  New Street, not much neighbours; she wouldn’t cry out of the window.  She ’s to be let free if she’ll leave London.’

‘You jumped it!’

’If I’d broke a leg, Mr. Kit Ines would have had to go to his drams.  It wasn’t very high; and a flower-bed underneath.  My mistress wanted to be the one.  She has to be careful.  She taught me how to jump down not to hurt.  She makes you feel you can do anything.  I had a bother to get her to let me and be quiet herself.  She’s not one to put it upon others, you’ll learn.  When I was down I felt like a stick in the ground and sat till I had my feet, she at the window waiting; and I started for you.  She kissed her hand.  I was to come to you, and then your father, you nowhere seen.  I wasn’t spoken to.  I know empty London.’

‘Kit Ines was left sleeping in the house?’