The two girls carried out their plan in all its details. They moved the chest of drawers against the door, and then they moved the bedstead. By this means they had practically locked the door. They were very thankful for this later on, for as night advanced and the people came home, and the house became full, their terrors increased. They were now so frightened that they did not dare to speak even to each other about their fears; and when, shortly after they had secured themselves against intrusion, someone first tapped at the door and then turned the handle and pushed, and then after a moment of silence steps were heard going away, they could only clasp each other's hands and sit close together, almost paralyzed with terror.

"They've shut themselves in," Christian heard Mrs. Carter say to someone on the landing. "They're the 'cutest young folks I ever see'd."

Then the someone who was spoken to growled, and Mrs. Carter and this person went into the adjoining room; and there they moved about at intervals, and at intervals remained quiet. Christian felt positive that they were waiting to do something, and Rose knew that they were waiting, but neither girl expressed her terror to the other.

"They can only get in by breaking through the door," said Christian, "and they will scarcely do that."

But Rose knew that such people as Mrs. Carter and her husband would think very little of breaking through an old door if they wished to get at their neighbors' attic.

How glad the children were that they had fuel! They piled up the little grate and made the fire burn hot and strong; and by and by Rosy tried to persuade Christian to have another cup of tea. But Christian was now so sick with terror that she could not touch the tea.

"We won't lie down at all," said Rosy. "We'll sit close to each other by the fire. We won't sit on the floor, for it aint too clean, but we'll sit on a chair each, and put our arms round each other. It's only for one night, my own darling Miss Christian—only for one night—and I think somehow God will keep us safe."

"I haven't prayed to Him," said Christian in a broken voice, "because I have done wrong. When you do very wrong you can't pray."

"Maybe you could repent, and then you could pray," said Rosy.

"I don't know," answered Christian.

The night went on. There were stars in the sky. The children could see the stars from the dormer-window of their attic; and presently the moon—a full one—rose and flooded the outside world. Christian, from where she sat, could see the cats stealing about, making great shadows on the neighboring roofs, and she could hear their cry as they met each other; she could also hear, far down below, the great roar of London itself. And in the house she could hear the cries of children and the angry, excited words of men and women, and she felt that in all her life she had never even imagined anything quite so awful. Her one drop of comfort lay in the fact that Rosy—pretty Rosy—was cuddled up close to her, and that Rosy certainly would not leave her.

The two young girls did not attempt to undress, and Christian's bag of money was still firmly secured under her skirt.

By and by silence began to reign. Even in a house like this people must sleep sometimes, and the drunken men and women lay down on their respective beds, the children slept heavily, and in the adjoining attic all was still. Then Rosy began to nod and to fall half-forward in her chair. Christian had great work to keep her from sliding to the ground. Perhaps it was this fact that made Christian so wide awake herself; but certain it is she could not sleep.

She was glad that there was a moon in the sky; she was glad that the terrible house was quiet at last. Poor Christian! she little knew what lay before her.

The time passed on, and notwithstanding her determination not to close an eye, the silence and the soothing effect of Rosy's presence began to make her drowsy. She put her arm more firmly round her little companion and let her body lean against Rosy's, and was really beginning to nod her head, when suddenly there came a great shadow between her and the moonlight. She looked up, and there was Mrs. Carter on the roof, trying to get in at the window. How she had got out on the leads Christian never knew, but she had done so, and was now feeling all along the fastening of the dormer-window and was endeavoring to open it.

In one minute it seemed to the young girl that the blood of Joan of Arc and Charlotte Corday, and many more of the great heroines of the past, rushed through her veins. She gave Rosy a jerk—unintentionally, for she did not mean to wake her. She did not care about Rosy then, nor did she want her. She felt all-sufficient to herself. In an instant she had sprung forward, and going to the window, opened it a little way.

"Go back this minute," she said. "You are not on any account to come in; I will push you down if you try. I don't care whether I hurt you or not; I will push you off the roof if you try to get in. You have no right here; go back."

Mrs. Carter was so amazed by the mere fact of Christian's being up and awake, when she expected her to be in bed and sound asleep, and so startled at the girl's unlooked-for courage, that she was absolutely mute.

"Go away," repeated Christian. "I know what you have come about: you want to steal my money. You think I have got some. Well, if I have, it isn't for you. You told me lies to-day about being punished for running away, but I don't tell you any lie when I say that you can be put in prison for this—yes, you and your husband. I will push you right down off the roof—I don't care whether it hurts or not—if you try to get in."

There was a very ugly look on Mrs. Carter's face. Even in the shadow, with her back to the moonlight, Christian noticed it; but not a single word escaped her lips. Her footing was insecure and dangerous; one strong push from a big girl like Christian standing firmly within the room would not only knock her down, but cause her to drop a matter of thirty feet on to another roof at a little distance. She therefore began cautiously and quietly, and still with that evil look on her face, to back away from Christian, and in a few minutes the young girl perceived by the absence of all shadow that Mrs. Carter must have returned to her own attic.

Then Christian shut the window, fastened it firmly, and stood close to it. Mr. Carter might come now that his wife had failed, but if he did both Christian and Rose would fight him. Christian was certain that between them they would be a match for anyone who tried to get in at the window.

"Rose," said Christian.

Rose began to mutter in her sleep. She had fallen forward now, and was half on the chair and half on the floor.

"I did not mean it, great-aunt," she began. "It was just that I were tempted, and I never, never thought that Miss Christian——"

"Wake up, Rose," said Christian; "wake up. You have got to stay awake."

Then Rose did open her dazed eyes.

"Whatever is the matter?" she cried.

"Build up the fire and I'll tell you," said Christian.

There was a new tone in Christian's voice; it was firm and strong and almost triumphant. It had the conquering note in it which Rosy had noticed when they played games sometimes in the attic.

"Oh, Miss Christian," she said, "what is it?"

Christian told her what had occurred.

"I am not proud," said Christian, "not a bit. It was just given to me to say the words, and I am sure God was helping me. I am sure God is sorry for us, and He is going to help us both. I don't feel a bit frightened, but we must keep them out, Rosy. If two of them come together it will be hard work, but we must be strong and firm and push them over if they try to come in. We will stay by the window all night, and you shall stay near to me, and we won't leave it except to stir up the fire."

The rest of the night was spent in that fashion, and as the hours went by and the moon set and darkness really came on, Rosy's fears began to return to her very badly; but Christian was not at all afraid.

"We will keep them out," she said. "If they had been coming back they would have come by now. And even if they do come back they will find us here."

Perhaps Mr. and Mrs. Carter were not quite such valiant people as Mrs. Carter would have given the children to understand, for certain it is that, although Christian fancied she heard a step on the roof outside the window towards morning, it did not come any nearer. Perhaps Carter was only prowling round to see if the children were still up and awake.

When the morning dawned there were two very tired little faces gazing sadly each at the other.

"This is the longest night I have ever lived through," said Christian, "and yesterday was the longest day. There is only one thing now to be done: I will go back to nursey and Miss Thompson and Miss Neil, and tell them everything. I will write to father and mother. I have done dreadfully wrong, and I ought to be punished, and I am quite, quite willing to go to the strict-discipline school."

"That's all very well," cried Rose, "but what about me?"

The terrors of the night were over, and once again she began to feel a certain charm in a life of independence; the little attic, with the winter sunshine streaming in at the dormer-window, was not altogether despicable; and surely there was a great fascination in the thought of dancing and playing and taking a monkey round the London streets.

"You did wrong too, Rose," said Christian. "Of course, you wouldn't have done it but for me. I will stand up for you all I can. I will tell your mother myself. She'll be angry, of course, but she wouldn't be a true mother if she didn't forgive."

"Oh, Miss Christian! you don't know what it means. If you only would——"

Then she looked at Christian's face and changed her mind. It was useless to talk any further; Christian was resolved. She had been resolved to run away, and she had done so; she was now equally resolved to return to the straight paths.

"I tell you what it is, Miss Christian," said Rose; "if you'd only speak to great-aunt, and ask her to let me live with her until you come back again, I'd be as happy as the day is long. You'll ask her, miss, won't you?"

"Perhaps," said Christian; "but it is time we were off, and we are not going to pretend any more."

Rosy had made tea, and Christian drank a cup and ate a morsel of bread; and then they pulled the bedstead away from its place beside the door, pushed the chest of drawers aside, and prepared to leave the attic. But first Christian took half-a-crown from her pocket.

"Whatever's that for?" asked Rosy.

"It's for the chair that Judith and Mrs. Carter broke," said Christian.

She had scarcely said the words before Mrs. Carter, with a pretended smile on her face and her hair quite tidily arranged, opened the door of her attic and came out.

"Well, now, dearies," she said, "and how are you both? And how did you sleep?"

Christian looked at her in some wonder. Mrs. Carter did not even blush.

"Why, now," she said, "the way poor women are misunderstood! You fastened your door, timorous young things, supposing as the neighbors might be breaking into your room and getting your bits of gold. You had no cause to fear that with me a-sleeping on the same floor; you had but to shout to me and I'd have come to you, and there aint a neighbor in the house as would do anything to little gels when Martha Carter's blood is up. Well, you shut your door, but I couldn't sleep. I said to Willyum, 'Willyum,' I sez, 'I can't get any rest for thinking of those two poor little haristocrats next door. They don't trust us, Willyum,' sez I, 'and I'll open the winder and steal out on the leads and look in at 'em, just to see that they're cozy and fast asleep.'

"'Do,' sez Willyum; and I gets out, and, my word! I was took back. You turned into a young savage, miss, and you threatened to murder me, and I as good-natured a woman as ever walked.

"Back I goes to Willyum. 'They're young sparrer-haws,' sez I, 'and we'll leave 'em to 'emselves. I'll have no more dealing with 'em. I never was took up with haristocrats, and these are the worst of their species.'

"Willyum agrees with me, and we drop asleep. Well, miss, I meant no harm; you mistook me—that was all."

Christian's clear eyes fixed themselves steadily on Mrs. Carter's bad face; then she said in a gentle tone:

"We are going away. We don't like this house, and we are going. You can do what you like with the crockery and the frying-pan and the coals, and you can have that half-crown in order to get the broken chair mended. And I paid for this room for a week, and you can use it until the week is up. Good-by; we are going. Don't keep us. If you or your husband follow us I shall scream for the police, and I shall tell the whole truth about everything. You'd best not follow us. Come, Rose."

She took her little companion's hand, and they ran downstairs.

As they ran the neighbors on each floor peeped out to watch them, and one or two made as though to follow them; but somehow they stopped short, for there was an expression on Christian's face which seemed to daunt them. She was walking very upright, and there was not a scrap of fear about her. Rosy, who stepped by her side, looked altogether small and insignificant by comparison.

"My word!" said Mrs. Carter, who came downstairs behind the children, turning as she spoke to address a slatternly woman who had come out of her room to see the sport, as she expressed it—"my word! that eldest girl, she'll do what she said. She's a character, she be. Why, if you'll believe it, last night, when I stood by the winder as kind as kind can be, just to see if the pore little dears were sleeping sound, she threatened to murder me, she did—no less. They're a good riddance, they be, and I'm going to see the landlord about that bit of a room. Pore man, I don't think he'll ever see his rent."

"See his rent!" screamed Mrs. Peters, the woman who had been spoken to. "You know as well as I do that it was paid in full by that queer girl what came here yesterday. If there are any spoils in that there room, we'll share with you, Mrs. Carter."

The excitement which this remark caused was really good for the children, for it so distracted Mrs. Carter's attention, and so fierce was the quarreling which ensued, that they were absolutely forgotten. They walked on silently for some little time. Rosy's heart beat hard, but Christian felt herself more like Joan of Arc than ever.

"We must try and get home," she said. "We have plenty of money, and I shall ask the police the best way to Russell Square."

Rose clutched her hand.

"Don't, Christian, don't!" she cried. "You mustn't. I don't care; I am frightened. That story may be true or it mayn't. S'pose it is true; s'pose they're angry; and—Oh, dear! oh, dear! Look, Christian—look!"

She pulled Christian forward. They were just passing a police-station, and there, pasted to the walls of the front of the house in very large letters, was an exact description of themselves:

"Missing.—A tall girl of about thirteen, with long, fair hair; and a shorter girl with dark, curly hair."

A long description followed, giving, item for item, all particulars with regard to the children. The tall girl wore a dark-blue serge dress and jacket, and the small girl was in red. A "substantial reward" was offered for the recovery of these two girls.

When Christian read this very startling description she felt the courage oozing out of her finger-tips.

"I suppose that awful woman is right. She must be right when the police are looking for us. This notice is outside a police-station. What is to be done?"

As Christian spoke she held Rosy's arm more firmly than ever. The two girls stood opposite the police-station, and once again Christian read the words of the advertisement. As she did so a stoutly built man of the laboring type came up.

He read the advertisement, and then he glanced at the two girls. Once again he read, and once again he looked. Christian was so absorbed in the description of herself that she did not notice the man; but Rose saw him.

"Is there anything I can do for you, lydies? If so I'll be pleased," he remarked suddenly.

Christian replied eagerly, "Do you know your way to Russell Square? It's a big square in Bloomsbury. Can you tell me how to get there?"

"Bloomsbury," said the man, scratching his forehead. "Never heard tell of it. Is it far from Lunnon, lydy?"

"No," replied Christian; "it's a place in London, and we want to get there as soon as possible."

"I daren't go home," whispered Rosy. "You know, Christian—you must know what it means."

Christian took her hand. "Come on," she said firmly; "we're all right. If we can get home without the police finding us, do you think that my dear nursey or Miss Thompson will lock us up? The thing is to get back to Russell Square and tell everything, and then we shall be all right."

"I'm willin' to go with you, lydies," said the man. "I know my way all right about this part of Lunnon, which aint, so to speak, a respectable part; and when we get to the neighborhood of the houses where the gentry lives, it's but to ask my way and I'll be told. I'm willin' and anxious to oblige you two lydies. Oh, I know I be a son o' toil, but I may say I'm honest. You may trust me—that you may."

Just then two policemen came out of the station; they stood on the steps and talked to each other. Presently one of them fixed his eyes on Christian. Her appearance evidently interested him, and he spoke to the other in a low voice. This decided the young girl.

"We'll go with you," she said to the man; "only you must be very quick. We want to get to Russell Square early this morning."

"Right you are, lydy," said the man, and he stepped on in front.

The two girls followed him. They walked in this fashion for the greater part of a mile, and all the wonderful dreams that Christian had ever dreamt about the happy life which she and Rosy would spend together disappeared as though they had never existed. She saw herself at last as she was—a very naughty, discontented little runaway girl. She had done nothing great or noble; on the contrary, she had been fearfully disobedient, and had doubtless given intense trouble to those who loved her. She to dare to compare herself to Joan of Arc or Charlotte Corday! She writhed now as she saw herself in her true colors. There was only one thing she was thankful for, and that was for the fact that her father and mother were out of England.

"They at least do not know what I have done," she thought; "and by the time they do know, they will have got my letter, and I'll have told them—oh, yes, I'll have told them—how sorry I am."

Suddenly the man turned and faced the children.

"If you two lydies," he said, "aint hungry, I am. Aint you got any money about yer?"

"Oh, indeed we have," said Christian. "We can give you quite a nice meal if you wish for it."

"But we aint got too much," said Rosy. She nudged her companion and gave her a warning look.

"Here's a shop where they have prime vittles," said the man; and as he spoke he stopped before a common-looking eating-house and beckoned the children to follow him inside.

It didn't look nice, Christian thought; but then they were very hungry—in fact, they were half-starved. Never before in her whole life had Christian known what real, desperate hunger meant—for they had scarcely touched any food for the last twenty-four hours.

Within the shop was an appetizing smell of fried fish and baked potatoes, and there were long tables with marble tops, and plates and cups and saucers. Coffee, too, was smoking in a great urn. A woman with two tired little children came in and ordered cocoa, and the cocoa looked good and rich and steaming hot. Oh, yes, they did not mind how ugly the place was outside; within there was food, and they were so terribly hungry.