y, and pitied, not without a certain
half-conscious female disdain, the weakness of the inevitable victim.
He did not dare to stop to explain to _her_ what it meant. He rushed
out of her way as soon as he saw she meant to question him. That
designing girl had got him entirely under her sway, the poor young
man!

Meanwhile the Curate, without a single thought for his landlady, made
a rush to Wodehouse's room. He did not wait for any answer to his
knock, but went in, not as a matter of policy, but because his
eagerness carried him on in spite of himself. To Mr Wentworth's great
amazement Wodehouse was undressing, intending, apparently, to return
to bed. The shabby fugitive, looking broad and brawny in his
shirt-sleeves, turned round when he heard the voice with an angry
exclamation. His face grew black as he saw the Curate at the door.
"What the deuce have you to do in my room at this hour?" he growled
into his beard. "Is a man never to have a little peace?" and with that
threw down his coat, which he still had in his hand, and faced round
towards the intruder with sullen looks. It was his nature to stand
always on the defensive, and he had got so much accustomed to being
regarded as a culprit, that he naturally took up the part, whether
there might be just occasion or not.

"Where have you been?" exclaimed the Curate; "answer me truly--I can't
submit to any evasion. I know it all, Wodehouse. Where is she? where
have you hid her? If you do not give her up, I must give you up to
justice. Do you hear me? where is Rosa Elsworthy? This is a matter
that touches my honour, and I must know the truth."

Mr Wentworth was so full of the subject that it did not occur to him
how much time he was giving his antagonist to prepare his answer.
Though Wodehouse was not clever, he had the instinct of a baited
animal driven to bay; and resistance and denial came natural to a man
who had been accused and condemned all his life.

"Rosa Elsworthy?" said the vagabond, "what have I to do with Rosa
Elsworthy? A pretty man I should be to run away with a girl; all that
I have in the world is a shilling or two, and, by Jove, it's an
expensive business, that is. You should ask your brother," he
continued, giving a furtive glance at the Curate--"it's more in his
way, by Jove, than mine."

Mr Wentworth was recalled to himself by this reply. "Where is she?" he
said, sternly,--"no trifling. I did not ask if you had taken her away.
I ask, where is