FOR a couple of hours I walked on briskly, careless in whatdirection I went, so long as I kept my back turned on Barkingham.

By the time I had put seven miles of ground, according to mycalculations, between me and the red-brick house, I began to lookupon the doctor's writing-desk rather in the light of anincumbrance, and determined to examine it without further delay.Accordingly I picked up the first large stone I could find in theroad, crossed a common, burst through a hedge, and came to ahalt, on the other side, in a thick wood. Here, finding myselfwell screened from public view, I broke open the desk with thehelp of the stone, and began to look over the contents.

To my unspeakable disappointment I found but few papers of anykind to examine. The desk was beautifully fitted with all thenecessary materials for keeping up a large correspondence; butthere were not more than half a dozen letters in it altogether.Four were on business matters, and the other two were of afriendly nature, referring to persons and things in which I didnot feel the smallest interest. I found besides half a dozenbills receipted (the doctor was a mirror of punctuality in thepayment of tradesmen), note and letter-paper of the finestquality, clarified pens, a pretty little pin-cushion, two smallaccount-books filled with the neatest entries, and some leaves ofblotting-paper. Nothing else; absolutely nothing else, in thetreacherous writing-desk on which I had implicitly relied toguide me to Alicia's hiding-place.

I groaned in sheer wretchedness over the destruction of all mydearest plans and hopes. If the Bow Street runners had come intothe plantation just as I had completed the rifling of the desk Ithink I should have let them take me without making the slightesteffort at escape. As it was, no living soul appeared within sightof me. I must have sat at the foot of a tree for full half anhour, with the doctor's useless bills and letters before me, withmy head in my hands, and with all my energies of body and mindutterly crushed by despair.

At the end of the half hour, the natural restlessness of myfaculties began to make itself felt.

Whatever may be said about it in books, no emotion in this worldever did, or ever will, last for long together. The strongfeeling may return over and over again; but it must have itsconstant intervals of change or repose. In real life thebitterest grief doggedly takes its rest and dries its eyes; theheaviest despair sinks to a certain level, and stops there togive hope a chance of rising, in spite of us. Even the joy of anunexpected meeting is always an imperfect sensation, for it neverlasts long enough to justify our secret anticipations--ourhappiness dwindles to mere every-day contentment before we havehalf done with it.

I raised my head, and gathered the bills and letters together,and stood up a man again, wondering at the variableness of my owntemper, at the curious elasticity of that toughest of all thevital substances within us, which we call Hope. "Sitting andsighing at the foot of this tree," I thought, "is not the way tofind Alicia, or to secure my own safety. Let me circulate myblood and rouse my ingenuity, by taking to the road again."

Before I forced my way back to the open side of the hedge, Ithought it desirable to tear up the bills and letters, for fearof being traced by them if they were found in the plantation. Thedesk I left where it was, there being no name on it. Thenote-paper and pens I pocketed--forlorn as my situation was, itdid not authorize me to waste stationery. The blotting-paper wasthe last thing left to dispose of: two neatly-folded sheets,quite clean, except in one place, where the impression of a fewlines of writing appeared. I was about to put the blotting-paperinto my pocket after the pens, when something in the look of thewriting impressed on it, stopped me.

Four blurred lines appeared of not more than two or three wordseach, running out one beyond another regularly from left toright. Had the doctor been composing poetry and blotting it in aviolent hurry? At a first glance, that was more than I couldtell. The order of the written letters, whatever they might be,was reversed on the face of the impression taken of them by theblotting-paper. I turned to the other side of the leaf. The orderof the letters was now right, but the letters themselves weresometimes too faintly impressed, sometimes too much blurredtogether to be legible. I held the leaf up to the light--andthere was a complete change: the blurred letters grew clearer,the invisible connecting lines appeared--I could read the wordsfrom first to last.

The writing must have been hurried, and it had to all appearancebeen hurriedly dried toward the corner of a perfectly clean leafof the blotting-paper. After twice reading, I felt sure that Ihad made out correctly the following address:

Miss Giles, 2 Zion Place, Crickgelly, N. Wales.

It was hard under the circumstances, to form an opinion as to thehandwriting; but I thought I could recognize the character ofsome of the doctor's letters, even in the blotted impression ofthem. Supposing I was right, who was Miss Giles?

Some Welsh friend of the doctor's, unknown to me? Probablyenough. But why not Alicia herself under an assumed name? Havingsent her from home to keep her out of my way, it seemed next to acertainty that her father would take all possible measures toprevent my tracing her, and would, therefore, as a common act ofprecaution, forbid her to travel under her own name. Crickgelly,North Wales, was assuredly a very remote place to banish her to;but then the doctor was not a man to do things by halves: he knewthe lengths to which my cunning and resolution were capable ofcarrying me; and he would have been innocent indeed if he hadhidden his daughter from me in any place within reasonabledistance of Barkingham. Last, and not least important, Miss Gilessounded in my ears exactly like an assumed name.

Was there ever any woman absolutely and literally named MissGiles? However I may have altered my opinion on this point since,my mind was not in a condition at that time to admit the possibleexistence of any such individual as a maiden Giles. Before,therefore, I had put the precious blotting-paper into my pocket,I had satisfied myself that my first duty, under all thecircumstances, was to shape my flight immediately to Crickgelly.I could be certain of nothing--not even of identifying thedoctor's handwriting by the impression on the blotting-paper. Butprovided I kept clear of Barkingham, it was all the same to mewhat part of the United Kingdom I went to; and, in the absence ofany actual clew to her place of residence, there was consolationand encouragement even in following an imaginary trace. Myspirits rose to their natural height as I struck into thehighroad again, and beheld across the level plain the smoke,chimneys, and church spires of a large manufacturing town. ThereI saw the welcome promise of a coach--the happy chance of makingmy journey to Crickgelly easy and rapid from the very outset.

On my way to the town, I was reminded by the staring of all thepeople I passed on the road, of one important consideration whichI had hitherto most unaccountably overlooked--the necessity ofmaking some radical change in my personal appearance.

I had no cause to dread the Bow Street runners, for not one ofthem had seen me; but I had the strongest possible reasons fordistrusting a meeting with my enemy, Screw. He would certainly bemade use of by the officers for the purpose of identifying thecompanions whom he had betrayed; and I had the best reasons inthe world to believe that he would rather assist in the taking ofme than in the capture of all the rest of the coining gang puttogether--the doctor himself not excepted. My present costume wasof the dandy sort--rather shabby, but gay in color and outrageousin cut. I had not altered it for an artisan's suit in thedoctor's house, because I never had any intention of stayingthere a day longer than I could possibly help. The apron in whichI had wrapped the writing-desk was the only approach I had madetoward wearing the honorable uniform of the workingman.

Would it be wise now to make my transformation complete, byadding to the apron a velveteen jacket and a sealskin cap? No: myhands were too white, my manners too inveterately gentleman-like,for all artisan disguise. It would be safer to assume a seriouscharacter--to shave off my whiskers, crop my hair, buy a modesthat and umbrella, and dress entirely in black. At the firstslopshop I encountered in the suburbs of the town, I got acarpet-bag and a clerical-looking suit. At the first easyshaving-shop I passed, I had my hair cropped and my whiskerstaken off. After that I retreated again to the country--walkedback till I found a convenient hedge down a lane off thehighroad--changed my upper garments behind it, and emerged,bashful, black, and reverend, with my cotton umbrella tuckedmodestly under my arm, my eyes on the ground, my head in the air,and my hat off my forehead. When I found two laborers touchingtheir caps to me on my way back to the town, I knew that it wasall right, and that I might now set the vindictive eyes of Screwhimself safely at defiance.

I had not the most distant notion where I was when I reached theHigh Street, and stopped at The Green Bull Hotel andCoach-office. However, I managed to mention my modest wishes tobe conveyed at once in the direction of Wales, with no more thana becoming confusion of manner.

The answer was not so encouraging as I could have wished. Thecoach to Shrewsbury had left an hour before, and there would beno other public conveyance running in my direct ion until thenext morning. Finding myself thus obliged to yield to adversecircumstances, I submitted resignedly, and booked a place outsideby the next day's coach, in the name of the Reverend John Jones.I thought it desirable to be at once unassuming and Welsh in theselection of a traveling name; and therefore considered JohnJones calculated to fit me, in my present emergency, to a hair.

After securing a bed at the hotel, and ordering a frugal curate'sdinner (bit of fish, two chops, mashed potatoes, semolinapudding, half-pint of sherry), I sallied out to look at the town.

Not knowing the name of it, and not daring to excite surprise byasking, I found the place full of vague yet mysterious interest.Here I was, somewhere in central England, just as ignorant oflocalities as if I had been suddenly deposited in Central Africa.My lively fancy revelled in the new sensation. I invented a namefor the town, a code of laws for the inhabitants, productions,antiquities, chalybeate springs, population, statistics of crime,and so on, while I walked about the streets, looked in at theshop-windows, and attentively examined the Market-place andTown-hall. Experienced travelers, who have exhausted allnovelties, would do well to follow my example; they may becertain, for one day at least, of getting some fresh ideas, andfeeling a new sensation.

On returning to dinner in the coffee-room, I found all the Londonpapers on the table.

The

"If F-- --K S--FTL--Y will communicate with his distressed andalarmed relatives, Mr. and Mrs. B--TT--RB--RY, he will hear ofsomething to his advantage, and may be assured that all will beonce more forgiven. A--B--LLA entreats him to write."

What, in the name of all that is most mysterious, does this mean!was my first thought after reading the advertisement. Can LadyMalkinshaw have taken a fresh lease of that impregnable vitaltenement, at the door of which Death has been knocking vainly forso many years past? (Nothing more likely.) Was my feloniousconnection with Doctor Dulcifer suspected? (It seemedimprobable.) One thing, however, was certain: I was missed, andthe Batterburys were naturally anxious about me--anxious enoughto advertise in the public papers.

I debated with myself whether I should answer their patheticappeal or not. I had all my money about me (having never let itout of my own possession during my stay in the red-brick house),and there was plenty of it for the present; so I thought it bestto leave the alarm and distress of my anxious relativesunrelieved for a little while longer, and to return quietly tothe perusal of the

Five minutes of desultory reading brought me unexpectedly to anexplanation of the advertisement, in the shape of the followingparagraph:

"ALARMING ILLNESS OF LADY MALKINSHAW.--We regret to announce thatthis venerable lady was seized with an alarming illness onSaturday last, at her mansion in town. The attack took thecharacter of a fit--of what precise nature we have not been ableto learn. Her ladyship's medical attendant and near relative,Doctor Softly, was immediately called in, and predicted the mostfatal results. Fresh medical attendance was secured, and herladyship's nearest surviving relatives, Mrs. Softly, and Mr. andMrs. Batterbury, of Duskydale Park, were summoned. At the time oftheir arrival her ladyship's condition was comatose, herbreathing being highly stertorous. If we are rightly informed,Doctor Softly and the other medical gentlemen present gave it astheir opinion that if the pulse of the venerable sufferer did notrally in the course of a quarter of au hour at most, verylamentable results might be anticipated. For fourteen minutes, asour reporter was informed, no change took place; but, strange torelate, immediately afterward her ladyship's pulse ralliedsuddenly in the most extraordinary manner. She was observed toopen her eyes very wide, and was heard, to the surprise anddelight of all surrounding the couch, to ask why her ladyship'susual lunch of chicken-broth with a glass of Amontillado sherrywas not placed on the table as usual. These refreshments havingbeen produced, under the sanction of the medical gentlemen, theaged patient partook of them with an appearance of the utmostrelish. Since this happy alteration for the better, herladyship's health has, we rejoice to say, rapidly improved; andthe answer now given to all friendly and fashionable inquirersis, in the venerable lady's own humorous phraseology, 'Muchbetter than could be expected.' "

Well done, my excellent grandmother! my firm, my unwearied, myundying friend! Never can I say that my case is desperate whileyou can swallow your chicken-broth and sip your Amontilladosherry. The moment I want money, I will write to Mr. Batterbury,and cut another little golden slice out of that possiblethree-thousand-pound-cake, for which he has already suffered andsacrificed so much. In the meantime, O venerable protectress ofthe wandering Rogue! let me gratefully drink your health in thenastiest and smallest half-pint of sherry this palate evertasted, or these eyes ever beheld!

I went to bed that night in great spirits. My luck seemed to bereturning to me; and I began to feel more than hopeful of reallydiscovering my beloved Alicia at Crickgelly, under the alias ofMiss Giles.

The next morning the Rev. John Jones descended to breakfast sorosy, bland, and smiling, that the chambermaids simpered as hetripped by them in the passage, and the landlady bowed graciouslyas he passed her parlor door. The coach drove up, and thereverend gentleman (after waiting characteristically for thewoman's ladder) mounted to his place on the roof, behind thecoachman. One man sat there who had got up before him--and whoshould that man be, but the chief of the Bow Street runners, whohad rashly tried to take Doctor Dulcifer into custody!

There could not be the least doubt of his identity; I should haveknown his face again among a hundred. He looked at me as I tookmy place by his side, with one sharp searching glance--thenturned his head away toward the road. Knowing that he had neverset eyes on my face (thanks to the convenient peephole at thered-brick house), I thought my meeting with him was likely to berather advantageous than otherwise. I had now an opportunity ofwatching the proceedings of one of our pursuers, at any rate--andsurely this was something gained.

"Fine morning, sir," I said politely.

"Yes," he replied in the gruffest of monosyllables.

I was not offended: I could make allowance for the feelings of aman who had been locked up by his own prisoner.

"Very fine morning, indeed," I repeated, soothingly andcheerfully.

The runner only grunted this time. Well, well! we all have ourlittle infirmities. I don't think the worse of the man now, forhaving been rude to me, that morning, on the top of theShrewsbury coach.

The next passenger who got up and placed himself by my side was aflorid, excitable, confused-looking gentleman, excessivelytalkative and familiar. He was followed by a sulky agriculturalyouth in top-boots--and then, the complement of passengers on ourseat behind the coachman was complete.

"Heard the news, sir?" said the florid man, turning to me.

"Not that I am aware of," I answered.

"It's the most tremendous thing that has happened these fiftyyears," said the florid man. "A gang of coiners, sir, discoveredat Barkingham--in a house they used to call the Grange. All thedreadful lot of bad silver that's been about, they're at thebottom of. And the head of the gang not taken! --escaped, sir,like a ghost on the stage, through a trap-door, after actuallylocking the runners into his workshop. The blacksmiths fromBarkingham had to break them out; the whole house was found fullof iron doors, back staircases , and all that sort of thing, justlike the Inquisition. A most respectable man, the originalproprietor! Think what a misfortune to have let his house to ascoundrel who has turned the whole inside into traps, furnaces,and iron doors. The fellow's reference, sir, was actually at aLondon bank, where he kept a first-rate account. What is tobecome of society? where is our protection? Where are ourcharacters, when we are left at the mercy of scoundrels? Thetimes are awful--upon my soul, the times we live in are perfectlyawful!"

"Pray, sir, is there any chance of catching this coiner?" Iinquired innocently.

"I hope so, sir; for the sake of outraged society, I hope so,"said the excitable man. "They've printed handbills at Barkingham,offering a reward for taking him. I was with my friend the mayor,early this morning, and saw them issued. 'Mr. Mayor,' says I,'I'm going West--give me a few copies--let me help to circulatethem--for the sake of outraged society, let me help to circulatethem. Here they are--take a few, sir, for distribution. You'llsee these are three other fellows to be caught besides theprincipal rascal--one of them a scamp belonging to a respectablefamily. Oh! what times! Take three copies, and pray circulatethem in three influential quarters. Perhaps that gentleman nextyou would like a few. Will you take three, sir?"

"No, I won't," said the Bow Street runner doggedly. "Nor yet oneof 'em--and it's my opinion that the coining-gang would be nabbedall the sooner, if you was to give over helping the law to catchthem."

This answer produced a vehement expostulation from my excitableneighbor, to which I paid little attention, being better engagedin reading the handbill.

It described the doctor's personal appearance with remarkableaccuracy, and cautioned persons in seaport towns to be on thelookout for him. Old File, Young File, and myself were alldishonorably mentioned together in a second paragraph, asrunaways of inferior importance Not a word was said in thehandbill to show that the authorities at Barkingham even so muchas suspected the direction in which any one of us had escaped.This would have been very encouraging, but for the presence ofthe runner by my side, which looked as if Bow Street had itssuspicions, however innocent Barkingham might be.

Could the doctor have directed his flight toward Crickgelly? Itrembled internally as the question suggested itself to me.Surely he would prefer writing to Miss Giles to join him when hegot to a safe place of refuge, rather than encumber himself withthe young lady before he was well out of reach of thefar-stretching arm of the law. This seemed infinitely the mostnatural course of conduct. Still, there was the runner travelingtoward Wales--and not certainly without a special motive. I putthe handbills in my pocket, and listened for any hints whichmight creep out in his talk; but he perversely kept silent. Themore my excitable neighbor tried to dispute with him, the morecontemptuously he refused to break silence. I began to feelvehemently impatient for our arrival at Shrewsbury; for thereonly could I hope to discover something more of my formidablefellow-traveler's plans.

The coach stopped for dinner; and some of our passengers left us,the excitable man with the handbills among the number. I gotdown, and stood on the doorstep of the inn, pretending to belooking about me, but in reality watching the movements of therunner.

Rather to my surprise, I saw him go to the door of the coach andspeak to one of the inside passengers. After a shortconversation, of which I could not hear one word, the runner leftthe coach door and entered the inn, called for a glass of brandyand water, and took it out to his friend, who had not left thevehicle . The friend bent forward to receive it at the window. Icaught a glimpse of his face, and felt my knees tremble underme--it was Screw himself!

Screw, pale and haggard-looking, evidently not yet recovered fromthe effect of my grip on his throat! Screw, in attendance on therunner, traveling inside the coach in the character of aninvalid. He must be going this journey to help the Bow Streetofficers to identify some one of our scattered gang of whom theywere in pursuit. It could not be the doctor--the runner coulddiscover him without assistance from anybody. Why might it not beme?

I began to think whether it would be best to trust boldly in mydisguise, and my lucky position outside the coach, or whether Ishould abandon my fellow-passengers immediately. It was not easyto settle at once which course was the safest--so I tried theeffect of looking at my two alternatives from another point ofview. Should I risk everything, and go on resolutely toCrickgelly, on the chance of discovering that Alicia and MissGiles were one and the same person--or should I give up on thespot the only prospect of finding my lost mistress, and direct myattention entirely to the business of looking after my ownsafety?

As the latter alternative practically resolved itself into thesimple question of whether I should act like a man who was inlove, or like a man who was not, my natural instincts settled thedifficulty in no time. I boldly imitated the example of myfellow-passengers, and went in to dinner, determined to go onafterward to Crickgelly, though all Bow Street should befollowing at my heels.