d to pass the little chorus girl and the grim old
lady, and Celia could not help nodding and smiling at them. The chorus
girl smiled back, and even the grim old lady's frown relaxed as she
bowed in stately fashion.

"I'm so happy, that I could shake hands with everybody," said Celia. "I
feel as if I must make friends with everyone I meet."

Then suddenly the happiness fled from her face, her eyes grew dark and
sad; for at that instant she thought of the young man, the fugitive
flying from justice. Where was he? What was he doing? Oh, if he would
only come back and get the message!

The polite and amiable cashier at the bank handed over ten bright
sovereigns, and with these in the purse clasped in her hand Celia
returned to the Buildings, to engage in a fight with Mr. Clendon over
the sum which he declared was all that was due to him. But it was
settled at last, though scarcely to Celia's satisfaction.

"I'd come to see you off to-morrow," he said, as he held her hand at
parting, "but I have an early rehearsal. Good-bye, and God bless you,"
he added, in a very low voice.

When he had gone Celia mopped her eyes and finished her packing, and the
next morning a taxi bore her from the Buildings. She looked out of the
window as long as the huge and grimy place remained in sight, and she
sighed when it had disappeared. In a sense she still belonged to The
Jail; for there had been no time to dispose of her furniture, and she
was so rich that she felt justified in keeping on the room for a while.
The rent was only a few shillings a week, and she could well afford to
pay it, at any rate until she had decided to sell the furniture. At the
bottom of her heart was the desire to keep it, for the sake of its
association: perhaps they would let her have it at Thexford Hall?

The journey, which no doubt most of the passengers considered a long
one, was to Celia a delightful experience, for she had been immured in
London long enough to enjoy the change. Her heart beat fast and her
breath came quickly, with suppressed excitement and a touch of anxiety,
as the train drew up to the small station of Thexford. On the platform
stood a tall footman, and as she alighted he came up, touched his hat,
and spoke her name. The station-master and the porter were in attendance
also, and all three received her as if she were a person of consequence.
The footman led the way to a landaulette car, touched his hat again as
he closed the door on her, a