There was no time for anything more; the girl nodded quickly, and was hurried away. But she went home to her lodging with a heart beating more heavily even than before.
CHAPTER XVIII
A CHASE IN THE DARK
Not daring to say a word in explanation to the Captain or Mrs. Quist, Clara went out that night, when darkness had fallen, and waited near the prison. Fortunately, it stood in a quiet spot—not much frequented after nightfall; she found a convenient arched doorway, from which she could watch the building unseen.
On the first night, nothing happened; the moon was set high in flying clouds, and the night was very still; now and then, she heard the passing feet of a pedestrian, crossing the end of the street in which she stood; once, a man went along on the opposite side, under the high walls, whistling—but did not see her. Mrs. Quist, having provided her with a key, in her trustfulness of heart, the girl lingered until a very late hour, and until the last footstep had died away. But still there was nothing.
On the second night, with a growing hope, she waited again—wishing, with all the strength of her love, that her eyes might pierce the heavy walls, and discover what the prisoner was doing. She had almost given up hoping for anything, and was preparing to return home to her lodging, when a curious sound broke upon her ear, and she started forward out of the gateway, keenly watchful.
She had heard a quick light thud upon the pavement, and then the rapid feet of some one running. Almost before she had had time to collect her thoughts, or to decide whether to hide again, or show herself, a figure dashed straight towards her, down the street, in the shadow of the wall. Some instinct causing her to spring out, the figure stopped, drawn straight up against the wall, and then slowly crossed towards her. The next moment her hands were in those of Philip Chater.
She had time, before he spoke, to notice that the hands which held hers were cut and bleeding; that he panted heavily, as though after some terrible exertion; and that he was covered with dust and lime-wash, and was hatless.
“Show me the way,” he panted. “Hide me somewhere—quick!”
She hurried on with him, while he crouched in the shadow of the houses, so that her figure might cover him as much as possible. They had scarcely more than a hundred yards to go, before she put her key swiftly in the lock of a door—drew him through, and shut it behind her. Bidding him, in a whisper, wait where he was, in the darkness of the passage, she softly opened the door of a lighted room, and went in.
Now it happened that evening, that Captain Peter Quist was in a great state of excitement. He had completed, that very day, the purchase of an absolutely ideal circus; a circus in full working order, the proprietor of which was only anxious to pass it into the hands of its new owner, and retire into private life. The delighted Captain had discovered that his new property consisted of three or four well-fitted caravans—a few small tents, together with one huge one for the accommodation of his audiences—and some waggons, with the necessary fittings for the concern. Horses—performing and otherwise—there were in abundance; and the Captain had already been assured that the male and female staff was only too ready to accept service under him. And the proprietor, having expressed a desire that Quist should see the show in working order, and be initiated into its mysteries gradually, the Captain, at the very moment of Clara’s entrance into the room, was busily engaged in packing a few articles which he considered proper and appropriate to his new standing in life.