throat, and tears came very near her eyes. She had often and often
thought of running away, but had never before had the courage and the
opportunity at the same time, and now that she had got both, and had
seized them, she was horribly frightened.

She was not so frightened by the prospect of want and loneliness and
uncertainty which lay before her, as she was by the thought of being
caught, and taken back again. The risk of capture after this bold
step of hers, and what would follow, were so terrible that the mere
thought of them made her turn off the high road at a run, and dash
into the nearest lane she came to. She had the sense to choose one
on the opposite side of the road, lest she should find herself back
on the moor again. A moor was so treacherous, there was no shelter,
and one never knew when one would be pounced on. There was no
shelter either, no food, no house, no safe hiding-place, and of
course there was no chance of finding a friend there, who might take
pity on her.

The lane she dashed into so blindly was a steep one, it led up, and
up, and up, but the hedges were so high she could not see anything
beyond them. They shut out all the air too, and the heat was quite
stifling, her poor thin little face grew scarlet, the perspiration
ran off her brow in heavy drops. She picked up her apron at last, to
wipe them away, and then it was she found the bundle of raffia and
the two or three baskets she had brought out to sell, when the
thought had come to her that she would never go back any more--that
here was the chance she had longed for. Now, when she noticed the
baskets for the first time, her heart beat faster than ever, for she
could well picture the rage there would be, when it was discovered
that not only had she run away, but had taken with her two baskets