The last entry in Beatrice’s journal was made by her in the hope that it might be the last.

In her life at Brandon Hall her soul had grown stronger and more resolute. Besides, it had now come to this, that henceforth she must either stay and accept the punishment which they might contrive or fly instantly.

For she had dared them to their faces; she had told them of their crimes; she had threatened punishment. She had said that she was the avenger of Despard. If she had desired instant death she could have said no more than that. Would they pass it by? She knew their secret—the secret of secrets; she had proclaimed it to their faces. She had called Potts a Thug and disowned him as her father; what now remained?

But one thing—flight. And this she was fully resolved to try. She prepared nothing. To gain the outside world was all she wished. The need of money was not thought of; nor if it had been would it have made any difference. She could not have obtained it.

The one idea in her mind was therefore flight. She had concealed her journal under a looser piece of the flooring in one of the closets of her room, being unwilling to encumber herself with it, and dreading the result of a search in case she was captured.

She made no other preparations whatever. A light hat and a thin jacket were all that she took to resist the chill air of March. There was a fever in her veins which was heightened by excitement and suspense.

Mrs. Compton was in her room during the evening. Beatrice said but little. Mrs. Compton talked drearily about the few topics on which she generally spoke. She never dared talk about the affairs of the house.

Beatrice was not impatient, for she had no idea of trying to escape before midnight. She sat silently while Mrs. Compton talked or prosed, absorbed in her own thoughts and plans. The hours seemed to her interminable. Slowly and heavily they dragged on. Beatrice’s suspense and excitement grew stronger every moment, yet by a violent effort she preserved so perfect an outward calm that a closer observer than Mrs. Compton would have failed to detect any emotion.

At last, about ten o’clock, Mrs. Compton retired, with many kind wishes to Beatrice, and many anxious counsels as to her health. Beatrice listened patiently, and made some general remarks, after which Mrs. Compton withdrew.

She was now left to herself, and two hours still remained before she could dare to venture. She paced the room fretfully and anxiously, wondering why it was that the time seemed so long, and looking from time to time at her watch in the hope of finding that half an hour had passed, but seeing to her disappointment that only two or three minutes had gone.

At last eleven o’clock came. She stole out quietly into the hall and went to the top of the grand stairway. There she stood and listened.

The sound of voices came up from the dining-room, which was near the hall-door. She knew to whom those voices belonged. Evidently it was not yet the time for her venture.

She went back, controlling her excitement as best she might. At last, after a long, long suspense, midnight sounded.

Again she went to the head of the stairway. The voices were still heard. They kept late hours down there. Could she try now, while they were still up? Not yet.

Not yet. The suspense became agonizing. How could she wait? But she went back again to her room, and smothered her feelings until one o’clock came.

Again she went to the head of the stairway. She heard nothing. She could see a light streaming from the door of the dining-hall below. Lights, also, were burning in the hall itself; but she heard no voices.

Softly and quietly she went down stairs. The lights flashed out through the door of the dining-room into the hall; and as she arrived at the foot of the stairs she heard subdued voices in conversation. Her heart beat faster. They were all there! What if they now discovered her! What mercy would they show her, even if they were capable of mercy?

Fear lent wings to her feet. She was almost afraid to breathe for fear that they might hear her. She stole on quietly and noiselessly up the passage that led to the north end, and at last reached it.

All was dark there. At this end there was a door. On each side was a kind of recess formed by the pillars of the doorway. The door was generally used by the servants, and also by the inmates of the house for convenience.

The key was in it. There was no light in the immediate vicinity. Around it all was gloom. Near by was a stairway, which led to the servants’ hall.

She took the key in her hands, which trembled violently with excitement, and turned it in the lock.

Scarcely had she done so when she heard footsteps and voices behind her. She looked hastily back, and, to her horror, saw two servants approaching with a lamp. It was impossible for her now to open the door and go out. Concealment was her only plan.

But how? There was no time for hesitation. Without stopping to think she slipped into one of the niches formed by the projecting pillars, and gathered her skirts close about her so as to be as little conspicuous as possible. There she stood awaiting the result. She half wished that she had turned back. For if she were now discovered in evident concealment what excuse could she give? She could not hope to bribe them, for she had no money. And, what was worst, these servants were the two who had been the most insolent to her from the first.

She could do nothing, therefore, but wait. They came nearer, and at last reached the door.

“Hallo!” said one, as he turned the key. “It’s been unlocked!”

“It hain’t been locked yet,” said the other.

“Yes, it has. I locked it myself an hour ago. Who could have been here?”

“Any one,” said the other, quietly. “Our blessed young master has, no doubt, been out this way.”

“No, he hasn’t. He hasn’t stirred from his whisky since eight o’clock.”

“Nonsense! You’re making a fuss about nothing. Lock the door and come along.”

“Any how, I’m responsible, and I’ll get a precious overhauling if this thing goes on. I’ll take the key with me this time.”

And saying this, the man locked the door and took out the key. Both of them then descended to the servants’ hall.

The noise of that key as it grated in the lock sent a thrill through the heart of the trembling listener. It seemed to take all hope from her. The servants departed. She had not been discovered. But what was to be done? She had not been prepared for this.

She stood for some time in despair. She thought of other ways of escape. There was the hall-door, which she did not dare to try, for she would have to pass directly in front of the dining-room. Then there was the south door at the other end of the building, which was seldom used. She knew of no others. She determined to try the south door.

Quietly and swiftly she stole away, and glided, like a ghost, along the entire length of the building. It was quite dark at the south end as it had been at the north. She reached the door without accident.

There was no key in it. It was locked. Escape by that way was impossible.

She stood despairing. Only one way was now left, and that lay through the hall-door itself.

Suddenly, as she stood there, she heard footsteps. A figure came down the long hall straight toward her. There was not the slightest chance of concealment here. There were no pillars behind which she might crouch. She must stand, then, and take the consequences. Or, rather, would it not be better to walk forward and meet this new-comer? Yes; that would be best. She determined to do so.

So, with a quiet, slow step she walked back through the long corridor. About half-way she met the other. He stopped and started back.

“Miss Potts!” he exclaimed, in surprise.

It was the voice of Philips.

“Ah, Philips,” said she, quietly, “I am walking about for exercise and amusement. I can not sleep. Don’t be startled. It’s only me.”

Philips stood like one paralyzed.

“Don’t be cast down,” he said at last, in a trembling voice. “You have friends, powerful friends. They will save you.”

“What do you mean?” asked Beatrice, in wonder.

“Never mind,” said Philips, mysteriously. “It will be all right. I dare not tell. But cheer up.”

“What do you mean by friends?”

“You have friends who are more powerful than your enemies, that’s all,” said Philips, hurriedly. “Cheer up.”

Beatrice wondered. A vague thought of Brandon came over her mind, but she dismissed it at once. Yet the thought gave her a delicious joy, and at once dispelled the extreme agitation which had thus far disturbed her. Could Philips be connected with him? Was he in reality considerate about her while shaping the course of his gloomy vengeance? These were the thoughts which flashed across her mind as she stood.

“I don’t understand,” said she, at last; “but I hope it may be as you say. God knows, I need friends!”

She walked away, and Philips also went onward. She walked slowly, until at last his steps died out in the distance. Then a door banged. Evidently she had nothing to fear from him. At last she reached the main hall, and stopped for a moment. The lights from the dining-room were still flashing out through the door. The grand entrance lay before her. There was the door of the hall, the only way of escape that now remained. Dare she try it?

She deliberated long. Two alternatives lay before her—to go back to her own room, or to try to pass that door. To go back was as repulsive as death, in fact more so. If the choice had been placed full before her then, to die on the spot or to go back to her room, she would have deliberately chosen death. The thought of returning, therefore, was the last upon which she could dwell, and that of going forward was the only one left. To this she gave her attention.

At last she made up her mind, and advanced cautiously, close by the wall, toward the hall-door. After a time she reached the door of the dining-room. Could she venture to pass it, and how? She paused. She listened. There were low voices in the room. Then they were still awake, still able to detect her if she passed the door.

She looked all around. The hall was wide. On the opposite side the wall was but feebly lighted. The hall lights had been put out, and those which shone from the room extended forward but a short distance. It was just possible therefore to escape observation by crossing the doorway along the wall that was most distant from it.

Yet before she tried this she ventured to put forward her head so as to peep into the room. She stooped low and looked cautiously and slowly.

The three were there at the farthest end of the room. Bottles and glasses stood before them, and they were conversing in low tones. Those tones, however, were not so low but that they reached her ears. They were speaking about her.

“How could she have found it out?” said Clark.

“Mrs. Compton only knows one thing,” said Potts, “and that is the secret about her. She knows nothing more. How could she?”

“Then how could that cursed girl have found out about the Thug business?” exclaimed John.

There was no reply.

“She’s a deep one,” said John, “d—d deep—deeper than I ever thought. I always said she was plucky—cursed plucky—but now I see she’s deep too—and I begin to have my doubts about the way she ought to be took down.”

“I never could make her out,” said Potts. “And now I don’t even begin to understand how she could know that which only we have known. Do you think, Clark, that the devil could have told her of it?”

“Yes,” said Clark. “Nobody but the devil could have told her that, and my belief is that she’s the devil himself. She’s the only person I ever felt afraid of. D—n it, I can’t look her in the face.”

Beatrice retreated and passed across to the opposite wall. She did not wish to see or hear more. She glided by. She was not noticed. She heard John’s voice—sharp and clear—

“We’ll have to begin to-morrow and take her down—that’s a fact.” This was followed by silence.

Beatrice reached the door. She turned the knob. Oh, joy! it was not locked. It opened.

Noiselessly she passed through; noiselessly she shut it behind her. She was outside. She was free.

The moon shone brightly. It illumined the lawn in front and the tops of the clumps of trees whose dark foliage rose before her. She saw all this; yet, in her eagerness to escape, she saw nothing more, but sped away swiftly down the steps, across the lawn, and under the shade of the trees.

Which way should she go? There was the main avenue which led in a winding direction toward the gate and the porter’s lodge. There was also another path which the servants generally took. This led to the gate also. Beatrice thought that by going down this path she might come near the gate and then turn off to the wall and try and climb over.

A few moments of thought were sufficient for her decision. She took the path and went hurriedly along, keeping on the side where the shadow was thickest.

She walked swiftly, until at length she came to a place where the path ended. It was close by the porter’s lodge. Here she paused to consider.

Late as it was there were lights in the lodge and voices at the door. Some one was talking with the porter. Suddenly the voices ceased and a man came walking toward the place where she stood.

To dart into the thick trees where the shadow lay deepest was the work of a moment. She stood and watched. But the underbrush was dense, and the crackling which she made attracted the man’s attention. He stopped for a moment, and then rushed straight toward the place where she was.

Beatrice gave herself up for lost. She rushed on wildly, not knowing where she went. Behind her was the sound of her pursuer. He followed resolutely and relentlessly. There was no refuge for her but continued flight.

Onward she sped, and still onward, through the dense underbrush, which at every step gave notice of the direction which she had taken. Perhaps if she had been wiser she would have plunged into some thick growth of trees into the midst of absolute darkness and there remained still. As it was she did not think of this. Escape was her only thought, and the only way to this seemed to be by flight.

So she fled; and after her came her remorseless, her unpitying pursuer, fear lent wings to her feet. She fled on through the underbrush that crackled as she passed and gave notice of her track through the dark, dense groves; yet still amidst darkness and gloom her pursuer followed.

{Illustration: “ONWARD SHE SPED, AND STILL ONWARD, THROUGH THE DENSE UNDERBRUSH."}

At last, through utter weakness and weariness, she sank down. Despair came over her. She could do no more.

The pursuer came up. So dense was the gloom in that thick grove that for some time he could not find her. Beatrice heard the crackling of the underbrush all around. He was searching for her.

She crouched down low and scarcely dared to breathe. She took refuge in the deep darkness, and determined to wait till her pursuer might give up his search. At last all was still.

Beatrice thought that he had gone. Yet in her fear she waited for what seemed to her an interminable period. At last she ventured to make a movement. Slowly and cautiously she rose to her feet and advanced. She did not know what direction to take; but she walked on, not caring where she went so long as she could escape pursuit.

Scarcely had she taken twenty steps when she heard a noise. Some one was moving. She stood still, breathless. Then she thought she had been mistaken. After waiting a long time she went on as before. She walked faster. The noise came again. It was close by. She stood still for many minutes.

Suddenly she bounded up, and ran as one runs for life. Her long rest had refreshed her. Despair gave her strength. But the pursuer was on her track. Swiftly, and still more swiftly, his footsteps came up behind her. He was gaining on her. Still she rushed on.

At last a strong hand seized her by the shoulder, and she sank down upon the moss that lay under the forest trees.

“Who are you?” cried a familiar voice.

“Vijal!” cried Beatrice.

The other let go his hold.

“Will you betray me?” cried Beatrice, in a mournful and despairing voice.

Vijal was silent.

“What do you want?” said he, at last. “Whatever you want to do I will help you. I will be your slave.”

“I wish to escape.”

“Come then—you shall escape,” said Vijal.

Without uttering another word he walked on and Beatrice followed. Hope rose once more within her. Hope gave strength. Despair and its weakness had left her. After about half an hour’s walk they reached the park wall.

“I thought it was a poacher,” said Vijal, sadly; “yet I am glad it was you, for I can help you. I will help you over the wall.”

He raised her up. She clambered to the top, where she rested for a moment.

“God bless you, Vijal, and good-by!” said she.

Vijal said nothing.

The next moment she was on the other side. The road lay there. It ran north away from the village. Along this road Beatrice walked swiftly.