"Whither would you have run?"
"To my Uncle Bartlemy's, in Kent. You know him of course; he lives near your father."
"Oh, yes, yes, certainly," replied the supposed Holyday.
"And you saw him that night; at least, you told me the watch had let him go."
"What, was that your Uncle Bartlemy?—the old gentleman you were to have met—the man my friends and I rescued from the watch!"
"I knew not 'twas you had rescued him; but 'twas he I went to meet at the Standard. Nay, then, if 'twas Uncle Bartlemy you rescued, you would have known him!"
"Oh, as for that," blundered Ravenshaw, realising how nearly he had betrayed himself, "no doubt 'twas your Uncle Bartlemy, now I think on't; but I recognised him not that night. For, look you, he took pains to keep unknown; and all was darkness and haste; and though we are neighbours, I see but little of him; and he is the last man I should expect to meet in London abroad in the streets after curfew."
"That is true enough," she said, with a smile; "and I hope you will not play the telltale upon him. If his wife knew he had been to London, there would be an end of all peace. Sure, you must promise me not to tell; for 'twas my pleading brought him to London."