He knew that Mother Butterfly had gone to the magistrates’ meeting the day before, and paid her fine of twenty-five pounds, and he also believed that she had paid up her rent, and sold her shop to a neighbouring pastry-cook, but he had never expected her to depart in this sudden way, and then he began to shed fresh tears over his two-and-ninepence and his character.

Mr. Flight began to reassure him, with promises to speak for him as an honest lad, while Lance bethought himself of the old organist’s description of that wandering star, “Without home, without country, without morals, without religion, without anything,” and recollected with a shudder that turning-point in his life when Edgar had made him show off his musical talent, and when Felix had been sharp with him, and the office of the ‘Pursuivant’ looked shabby, dull, and dreary.

Nothing more could be done, except to make bold assurances to Mr. Flight that Mona’s place should be supplied, and then to hurry home, meeting on his way a policeman, who told him that the circus was certainly gone away, and promised to let him know whither.

He was glad to find that Gerald had not come down-stairs, having overslept himself in the morning after a wakeful night.  He was dressing when his uncle knocked at his door.

“Here is a shock, Gerald!  I hope it is chiefly to our masque.  These people have absconded, and carried off our poor little Mona.”

“What?  Absconded?  My sister!  I must be after them instantly,” cried Gerald, wildly snatching at his coat.

“What good would that do? you can’t carry her off vi et armis.”

“Send the police.”

“No possibility.  The fine is paid, the rent and all.  They have gone, it seems, with the circus.”

“Ah!  Depend upon it that fellow has paid the fine, and bought the poor child into slavery with it.  Carried her off in spite of our demurring, and the Vicar’s prosecution.  I must save her.  I’ll go after and outbid.”

“No hurry, Gerald.  A circus is not such a microscopical object but that it can be easily traced.  A policeman has promised to find out where, and meanwhile we must attend to our present undertaking.”

Gerald strode up and down the room in a fiery fit of impatience and indignation, muttering furious things, quite transformed from the listless, ironical youth hitherto known to his family.

“Come,” Lancelot said, “our first duty is to do justice to our part; Francie Vanderkist will take Mona.”

“Hang Mona! you care for nothing on earth but your fiddling and songs.”

“I do not see that being frantic will make any difference to the situation.  All in our power is being done.  Meanwhile, we must attend to what we have undertaken.”

Gerald rushed about a little more, but finally listened to his uncle’s representation that the engrossing employment was good to prevent the peril of disturbing the two whom they were so anxious to spare.  Fely came running up with a message that Aunt Cherie and Anna had been sent for to see about the decorations of the art stall, and that they would have to eat their breakfast without them.