“Yes, Uncle Heinrich,” I said. I had to speak; he was gripping my cheek between his finger and thumb in a gesture which I suppose might have looked tender from a distance.

He released my cheek, and I rubbed it while he rang the bell. Then he turned to Max and Eliza again and fumbled in the drawer of his desk.

“Here,” he said, and gave them some money. “Take this, with my thanks.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Max, and tugged his forelock. I could see he didn’t enjoy it; he was a bad actor at the best of times and I wondered how he’d ever managed to perform beside Doctor Cadaverezzi. But Uncle Heinrich was in too triumphant a mood to notice things like that, and he patted Max on the back and then (horror!) came between Charlotte and me, put an arm around us both and hugged us. We stood very still.

Then Frau Muller, that sour personage, came in to take us away to be fed—and, I knew, locked up until required, like luggage on board ship. We didn’t say good-bye to Max and Eliza—there didn’t seem to be time—but Eliza gave us a swift smile when Uncle Heinrich had turned to speak to Frau Muller, and Max winked. But they looked as anxious as we felt, and I thought (for the ninetieth time): Have we done the right thing?

Once we were out of sight of our supposed rescuers, there was no doubt that we were prisoners. Frau Muller spoke to us harshly, and Wilhelm the groom—an uncouth individual and a brute with the horses—stood guard over us while we ate, in Frau Muller’s austere parlor, some thin gruel and dry bread. She allowed us a cup of wine each, which, being thirsty, we drank at once; and hardly had the last mouthful of food vanished down our throats than we both yawned and nodded with exhaustion. I remember thinking: This is odd, they’re watching us, and there’s someone else arrived—oh, it’s Herr Snivelwurst—he’s sneezed all over Charlotte, but she hasn’t noticed—she’s fast asleep—someone’s lifted me up—I’m falling asleep too….

And then, nothing but a rushing darkness, filled with strange impressions that loomed like dreams and then sank out of sight: cold; and jolting discomfort; the sound of horses; something that creaked like dry leather; a face thrust close to mine, with an air of stale brandy about it; something that scratched my cheek, like a rough blanket; and finally, silence, and sleep again—the deepest sleep I’d ever known.