She did not at once see a hansom, and therefore she walked for a few yards along the broad pavement of the Bayswater Road, where at that hour not many passers-by were to be encountered. And here, to her great surprise, she met her father--but a father so changed, so utterly transformed in appearance, that she would not have known him but for his voice. He wore an overcoat that she had never seen before, and a tall hat; he had got rid of the white hair and beard, and had even shaved off his whiskers; he remained a lean, brown-faced, resolute-looking man, more refined, but decidedly more commonplace, than he had been before.

This man would pass easily in a crowd; people used to stop and gaze after Reuben Dare.

"Oh, I am so thankful--so glad!" cried Cynthia, when the meaning of the change burst upon her. "Nobody would recognise you now, father; your own face is a greater disguise than any amount of snowy hair. What made you alter yourself in this way?"

"Cynthia," said her father, drawing her into a quiet little side-street, and speaking in low earnest tones, "I have been a great fool! I wish I had taken your advice earlier. That woman Meldreth suspects me. For aught I know, I am already watched and followed. There is not a moment to lose. If I mean to escape, I'd better get out of the country as fast as I can--or find some snug corner where I can lie close until they have left off looking for me. There is a cab--a four-wheeler. Let us get into that, and we can talk as we go. I don't see any one who appears to be dogging me at present. Where were you going?"

"I will go wherever you go, father," said Cynthia.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

Westwood was silent until he found himself with his daughter inside the cab.

"Where did you tell him to go?" he then asked of her.

"To St. Pancras Station. I thought that we could more easily evade watchers at a big railway-station than anywhere else."

"They will watch the stations," said the man. "I may have got the start, and I may not. The stations are hardly safe."

"Let the man drive on for a few minutes while you tell me the reason why you think you are watched," said Cynthia, suspecting panic; "he cannot be going far out of the way, and, if we change our minds we can tell him so presently."

"Well," said Westwood, evidently recovering nerve and self-possession under the influence of his daughter's calmer manner and speaking in an easier tone, "it's that woman Meldreth--she is a spy. Who do you think came to her house yesterday but Mrs. Vane? The very woman who has most reason to dread me and to wish to get me shut up in prison, if my idea of her is true! I think she wanted to see me with her own eyes. She looked at me as if she would read me through and through."

"Where did you meet her, father?"

"In the street. I was asked to show her Mrs. Gunn's house. It was pure accident of course, but it gave us an opportunity of looking at each other."

"Did you go back to the house after that?"

"Yes, I did, my girl, because I had left my portmanteau there with papers and money, without which I should soon be in 'Queer Street.' Yes, I went back, and found Mrs. Vane gone. But the Meldreth woman had a queer look about her, and I suspected what she was about, though I don't know that I could have balked her but for my peculiar constitution.

Sleeping-stuff don't have no effect on me, my dear--it never had. They tried it in the prison when I was there at first, and couldn't sleep for thinking of the woods and the open fields and my own little girl--and it nearly drove me mad. Sabina Meldreth gave me some sleeping-stuff in my tea last night."

"What for, father?"

"That's what I wanted to know. When I felt the old pricks and twitches beginning, I pretended to be very sleepy, and I lay down on the sofa and went off, as she thought, into a deep slumber. Presently she came in, and--what do you think, Cynthy?--she began to examine my hair and beard!

Of course she soon saw that it would come off; and then she laughed a little to herself. 'Twenty pounds for this job,' she said--'and more perhaps afterwards. I wonder what Mrs. Vane's up to now? I'll be off to her first thing to-morrow morning. It's somebody she's got a spite against, I'll be bound!' And then she went away and left me alone, having done her work."

"So then you came away?"

"Not immediate, my girl. I was off at five o'clock this morning. I got shaved at a little place in Gray's Inn Road--after disposing of my wig and beard elsewhere, you know; and I bought this rig-out at two different places in Holborn. Then I breakfasted at a coffee-stall and came on here. They'll only just have found out that I've gone by now--if indeed so soon--unless they have found it out accidental-like."

"The woman--Meldreth is her name?--would not know what to do without consulting Mrs. Vane first, would she?"

"No. But then we don't know where Mrs. Vane is--she may have been in the house all the time for aught we know."

"I think not," said Cynthia decisively. "She would have come herself to look at you when Miss Meldreth was examining your hair if she had been in the house."

"Well, perhaps she would. You've got a head on your shoulders, Cynthia--that you have! Miss Meldreth would have to get to Mrs. Vane and tell her this morning, as she said; then Mrs. Vane would let the police know. That gives us till about eleven or twelve o'clock."

"Two hours' start. Is not that sufficient?"

Westwood shook his head.

"The first thing they will do is to telegraph to all the ports."

"But you look so different now, father! And I can make myself look quite different too."

"You! Why, you don't suppose I am going to let you come with me?"

"Oh, yes, father dear, I cannot leave you now!"

"It would be madness, Cynthia. You are well known, and you would be too easily recognised. Everybody turns to look at a handsome girl like you."

"If you can disguise yourself, so can I."

"We have not time for that. Besides, why do you want to leave England so soon and so suddenly?"

"Oh, I don't--I don't!" said Cynthia, suddenly trembling and clinging to him. "Only I can't bear the idea of your being without me now when you are in danger."

"I can send for you, my lass, when I am safe. You will come then?"

"Yes, father."

"You'll come straight, without waiting for any good-byes or to tell any one where you are going?"

"Yes, father--unless----"

"Well? Unless what?"

"Father, Mr. Lepel is very ill. They say that he has brain-fever. If he were dying, you would let me wait to say good-bye to him?"

She had put her hand through his arm, and was leaning against his shoulder. Her father looked at her sideways, with a rough pity mingled with admiration.

"Were you going to him now, Cynthia?"

"Yes, father."

"I've interrupted you. It's hard on you to have a father like me although he is an innocent man."

"I honor my father and I love him," was Cynthia's swift response. "My greatest grief is that he cannot be near me always."

There was a silence; the cab had quitted the smoother roads and entered on a course of rattling stones. It was difficult to speak so as to be heard; but Westwood raised his voice.

"Cynthia!"