to London by the next train, and meet me at the terminus at two o'clock
tomorrow afternoon. If nothing happens, wait where you are till you
hear from me or see me again."

He laid his hand on the low paling, and vaulted over it. The linen
hanging up in the garden to dry offered him a means of concealment (if
any one happened to look out of the window) of which he skilfully
availed himself. The dust-bin was at the side of the house, situated at
a right angle to the parlour window. He was safe behind the bin,
provided no one appeared on the path which connected the patch of
garden at the back with the patch in front. Here, running the risk, he
waited and listened.

The first voice that reached his ears was the voice of Mrs. Ronald. She
was speaking with a firmness of tone that astonished him.

"Hear me to the end, Benjamin," she said. "I have a right to ask as
much as that of my husband, and I do ask it. If I had been bent on
nothing but saving the reputation of our miserable girl, you would have
a right to blame me for keeping you ignorant of the calamity that has
fallen on us--"

There the voice of her husband interposed sternly. "Calamity! Say
disgrace, everlasting disgrace."

Mrs. Ronald did not notice the interruption. Sadly and patiently she
went on.

"But I had a harder trial still to face," she said. "I had to save her,
in spite of herself, from the wretch who has brought this infamy on us.