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      “You look kind enough yourself,” she retorted; “and I wager you are worth a dozen Lady Vandeleurs.”

      Harry was properly scandalised.

      “I!” he cried. “I am only a secretary!”

      “Do you mean that for me?” said the girl. “Because I am only a housemaid, if you please.” And then, relenting at the sight of Harry’s obvious confusion, “I know you mean nothing of the sort,” she added; “and I like your looks; but I think nothing of your Lady Vandeleur. Oh, these mistresses!” she cried. “To send out a real gentleman like you – with a bandbox – in broad day!” During this talk they had remained in their original positions – she on the doorstep, he on the side-walk, bareheaded for the sake of coolness, and with the bandbox on his arm. But upon this last speech Harry, who was unable to support such point-blank compliments to his appearance, nor the encouraging look with which they were accompanied, began to change his attitude, and glance from left to right in perturbation. In so doing he turned his face towards the lower end of the lane, and there, to his indescribable dismay, his eyes encountered those of General Vandeleur. The General, in a prodigious fluster of heat, hurry, and indignation, had been scouring the streets in chase of his brother-in-law; but so soon as he caught a glimpse of the delinquent secretary, his purpose changed, his anger flowed into a new channel, and he turned on his heel and came tearing up the lane with truculent gestures and vociferations.

      Harry made but one bolt of it into the house, driving the maid before him; and the door was slammed in his pursuer’s countenance.

      “Is there a bar? Will it lock?” asked Harry, while a salvo on the knocker made the house echo from wall to wall.

      “Why, what is wrong with you?” asked the maid. “Is it this old gentleman?”

      “If he gets hold of me,” whispered Harry, “I am as good as dead. He has been pursuing me all day, carries a sword-stick, and is an Indian military officer.”

      “These are fine manners,” cried the maid. “And what, if you please, may be his name?”

      “It is the General, my master,” answered Harry. “He is after this bandbox.”

      “Did not I tell you?” cried the maid in triumph. “I told you I thought worse than nothing of your Lady Vandeleur; and if you had an eye in your head you might see what she is for yourself. An ungrateful minx, I will be bound for that!”

      The General renewed his attack upon the knocker, and his passion growing with delay, began to kick and beat upon the panels of the door.

      “It is lucky,” observed the girl, “that I am alone in the house; your General may hammer until he is weary, and there is none to open for him. Follow me!”

      So saying she led Harry into the kitchen, where she made him sit down, and stood by him herself in an affectionate attitude, with a hand upon his shoulder. The din at the door, so far from abating, continued to increase in volume, and at each blow the unhappy secretary was shaken to the heart.

      “What is your name?” asked the girl.

      “Harry Hartley,” he replied.

      “Mine,” she went on, “is Prudence. Do you like it?”

      “Very much,” said Harry. “But hear for a moment how the General beats upon the door. He will certainly break it in, and then, in heaven’s name, what have I to look for but death?”

      “You put yourself very much about with no occasion,” answered Prudence. “Let your General knock, he will do no more than blister his hands. Do you think I would keep you here if I were not sure to save you? Oh, no, I am a good friend to those that please me! and we have a back door upon another lane. But,” she added, checking him, for he had got upon his feet immediately on this welcome news, “but I will not show where it is unless you kiss me. Will you, Harry?”

      “That I will,” he cried, remembering his gallantry, “not for your back door, but because you are good and pretty.”

      And he administered two or three cordial salutes, which were returned to him in kind.

      Then Prudence led him to the back gate, and put her hand upon the key.

      “Will you come and see me?” she asked.

      “I will indeed,” said Harry. “Do not I owe you my life?”

      “And now,” she added, opening the door, “run as hard as you can, for I shall let in the General.”

      Harry scarcely required this advice; fear had him by the forelock; and he addressed himself diligently to flight. А few steps, and he believed he would escape from his trials, and return to Lady Vandeleur in honour and safety. But these few steps had not been taken before he heard a man’s voice hailing him by name with many execrations, and, looking over his shoulder, he beheld Charlie Pendragon waving him with both arms to return. The shock of this new incident was so sudden and profound, and Harry was already worked into so high a state of nervous tension, that he could think of nothing better than to accelerate his pace, and continue running. He should certainly have remembered the scene in Kensington Gardens; he should certainly have concluded that, where the General was his enemy, Charlie Pendragon could be no other than a friend. But such was the fever and perturbation of his mind that he was struck by none of these considerations, and only continued to run the faster up the lane.

      Charlie, by the sound of his voice and the vile terms that he hurled after the secretary, was obviously beside himself with rage. He, too, ran his very best; but, try as he might, the physical advantages were not upon his side, and his outcries and the fall of his lame foot on the macadam began to fall farther and farther into the wake.