slice out of that possible three-thousand-
pound-eake, for which he has already suffered
and sacrificed so much. In the mean time,
O venerable protectress of the wandering
Rogue! let me gratefully drink your health
in the nastiest and smallest half-pint of
sherry this palate ever tasted, or these eyes
ever beheld!

I went to bed that night in great spirits.
My luck seemed to be returning to me; and
I began to feel more than hopeful of really
discovering my beloved Laura at Crickgelly,
under the alias of Miss James. The next
morning the Rev. John Jones descended to
breakfast, so rosy, bland, and smiling, that
the chambermaids simpered as he tripped
by them in the passage, and the landlady
bowed graciously as he passed her parlour
door. The coach drove up, and the reverend
gentleman (after waiting characteristically
for the woman's ladder) mounted to his place
on the roof, behind the coachman. One man
sat there who had got up before him—and
who should that man be, but the chief of the
Bow Street runners, who had rashly tried
to take Dr. Knapton into custody!

There could not be the least doubt of his
identity; I should have known his face
again among a hundred. He looked at me
as I took my place by his side, with one sharp
searching glance—then turned his head away
towards the road. Knowing that he had
never set eyes on my face (thanks to the
convenient peep-hole at the red-brick house),
I thought my meeting with him was likely to
be rather advantageous than otherwise. I
had now an opportunity of watching the
proceedings of one of our pursuers, at any
rate,—and surely 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 a man who had been
locked up by his own prisoner.

"Very fine morning, indeed," I repeated,
soothingly and cheerfully.

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

The next passenger who got up and placed
himself by my side was a florid, excitable,
confused-looking gentleman, excessively
talkative and familiar. He was followed by a
sulky agricultural youth in top-boots,—and
then, the complement of passengers on our
seat behind the coachmen 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 fifty years," said the florid
man. " A gang of coiners, sir, discovered at
Burkingham—in a house they used to call
the Grange. All the dreadful lot of bad
silver that's been about, they're at the bottom
of. And the head of the gang not taken!
—escaped, sir, like a ghost on the stage,
through a trap-door, after actually locking
the runners into his workshop. The
blacksmiths from Barkingham had to break them
out; the whole house was found full of
iron doors, back staircases, and all that
sort of thing, just like the Inquisition. A
most respectable man, the original
proprietor! Think what a misfortune to have
let his house to a scoundrel who has turned
the whole inside into traps, furnaces, and
iron doors. The fellow's reference, sir, was
actually at a London bank, where he kept
a first-rate account. What is to become
of society? where is our protection? Where
are our characters, when we are left at the
mercy of scoundrels? The times are awful
—upon my soul, the times we live in are
perfectly awful ?"

"Pray, sir, is there any chance of catching
this coiner '/" I inquired, 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 circulate them—for the sake
of outraged society, let me help to circulate
them.' Here they are,—take a few, sir, for
distribution. You'll see there are three
other fellows to be caught besides the
principal rascal—one of them a scamp belonging to
a respectable family. O! what times! Take
three copies, and pray circulate them in three
influential quarters. Perhaps that gentleman
next you would like a few. Will you
take three, sir?"

"No, I wont," said the Bow Street runner,
doggedly. "Nor yet one of 'em;—and it's
my opinion that the coining-gang would be
nabbed all the sooner, if you was to give over
helping the law to catch them."

This answer produced a vehement
expostulation from my excitable neighbour, to
which I paid little attention, being better
engaged in reading the handbill. It described
the doctor's personal appearance with remarkable
accuracy, and cautioned persons in
seaport towns to be on the look-out for him.
Old File, Young File, and myself were all
dishonourably mentioned together in a second
paragraph, as runaways of inferior importance.
Not a word was said in the hand-bill to show
that the authorities at Barkingham even so
much as suspected the direction in which
any one of us had escaped. This would have
been very encouraging, but for the presence
of the runner by my side, which looked as if
Bow Street had its suspicions, however
innocent Barkingham might be. Could the doctor
have directed his flight towards Crickgelly?
I trembled internally, as the question
suggested itself to me. Surely he would prefer