“Oh no.  They would be too cunning.”

“If we could help her to escape what a lark it would be!”

“I do believe we could” cried Dolores.  “If I could only get a note to her!  And this red ulster!  I wonder if Miss Hackett would help!”

Dolores waited for Miss Hackett, who had lingered behind, and told her as much of the facts as was expedient.  There was a spice of romance in the Hackett soul, and the idea of a poor girl, a G. F. S. maiden, in the hands of these cruel and unscrupulous people was so dreadful that she was actually persuaded to bethink herself of means of assistance.

“Where did you meet the girl?” she said.  Dolores told her the street.

“Ah! depend upon it the things were with Mrs. Crachett, who I know has done washing for people about on fair-days, when they can’t do it themselves.  She has a daughter in my G. F. S. class; I wonder if we could get any help from her.”

It was a very odd device for a respectable associate and member of G. F. S. to undertake, but if ever the end might justify the means it was on the present occasion.  Fortune favoured them, for Melinda Crachett was alone in the house, ironing out some pale pink garments.

“Are you washing for those people on the common, Melinda?” asked Miss Hackett.

“Yes, Miss Hackett.  They want them by seven o’clock to-night very particular, and they promised me a seat to see the performance, miss, if I brought them in good time, and I wondered, miss, if you would object.”

“Only tell me, Melinda, whom you saw.”

“I saw the lady herself, ma’am, the old lady, when I took the things.”

“No young person?”

“Yes, ma’am.  It was a very nice young lady indeed that brought me down this pink tunic, because it got stained last night, and she said her orders was to promise me a ticket if it came in time; but, oh my! ma’am, she looked as if she wanted to tell me not to come.”

“Poor girl!  She is a G. F. S. member, Melinda, and I do believe you would be doing a very good deed if you could help us to get her away from those people.”

Melinda’s eyes grew round with eagerness.  She had no doubts respecting what Miss Hackett advised her to do, and there was nothing for it but to take the risk.  Then and there Dolores sat down and pencilled a note, directing Ludmilla to put on the red ulster after her performance, if possible, when people were going away, and slip out among them, joining Melinda, who would convey her to Miss Hackett’s.  This was safer than for Gerald to be nearer, since he was liable to be recognized.  Still it was a desperate risk, and Dolores had great doubts whether she should ever see her red Maori again.