Tilda had time in her distress to be astonished by his voice. It was
pure, distinct, with the tone of a sphere not hers. Yet she recognised
it. She had heard celestial beings--ladies and gentlemen in Maggs's
three-shilling seats--talk in voices like this boy's.

"I've took a 'eap o' trouble to find yer," she said. "An' now I've done
it, _all_ depends on our gettin' out o' this. Ain't there no way? _Do_
try to think a bit!"

The boy shook his head.

"There isn't any way. You let me alone, and clear."

"He can't do worse'n kill us," said Tilda desperately, with a look back
at the house. "S'help me, let's try!"

But her spirit quailed.

"He won't kill you. He'll catch you, and keep you here for ever and
ever."

"We'll try, all the same."

Tilda shut her teeth and held out a hand--or rather, was beginning to
extend it--when a sound arrested her. It came from the door of the
glass-house, and as she glanced towards it her heart leapt and stood
still.

"'Dolph!"