that Sir Isaac had a particularly comfortable box. "A very great man," he said, with his finger to his lip, "only he will not have it known—just at present." The guard stares, and promises all deference—opens the door of a central first-class carriage—assures Waife that he and his friend shall not be disturbed by other passengers. The train heaves into movement—Hartopp runs on by its side along the stand—his hat off—kissing his hand; then, as the convoy shoots under yon dark tunnel, and is lost to sight, he turns back, and seeing Merle, says to him: "You know that gentleman—the old one?"
"Yes, a many year."
"Ever heard anything against him?"
"Yes, once—at Gatesboro'."
"At Gatesboro'!—ah! and you did not believe it?"
"Only jist for a moment—transiting."
"I envy you," said Hartopp; and he went off with a sigh.
CHAPTER VII.
Jasper Losely, on quitting his father, spent his last coins in payment for his horse's food, and on fiery drink for himself. In haste he mounted—in haste he spurred on to London; not even pence for the toll-bars. Where he found the gates open, he dashed through them headlong; where closed, as the night advanced, he forced his horse across the fields, over hedge and ditch—more than once the animal falling with him—more than once thrown from the saddle; for, while a most daring, he was not a very practiced rider; but it was not easy to break bones so strong, and though bruised and dizzy he continued his fierce way. At morning his horse was thoroughly exhausted, and at the first village he reached after sunrise he left the poor beast at
