The magistrate looked earnestly at Gray for a moment, and then passed on. During that brief look the blood appeared to Jacob Gray to be almost congealing at his heart, so full of fear was he that some distant reminiscence of his countenance might still live in the remembrance of Sir Frederick Hartleton. Such, however, appeared not to be the case, for the magistrate passed on, nor once looked behind him, to the immense relief of Gray, who now made up his mind on the moment to enter the house from a feeling of intense curiosity; to know what business his greatest foe could have there at such an early hour. When he reached the small sanded parlour of the little hostel, he found several persons engaged in earnest discourse, among whom he had no difficulty in selecting the landlord, who was talking earnestly and loudly. “Ah, my masters,” cried the landlord, “he’s a brave gentleman and a liberal one, I can tell you. He said to me—‘Landlord,’ says he—‘let her have of the best your house affords, and send your bill to me’—that’s what he said—and it’s no joke, I can tell you, for a publican to be on good terms with a magistrate. Oh, dear me! Then you should have seen how cold and wet he was; and when I offered him my Sunday garments, he took them with a thank ye, landlord, that was worth a Jew’s eye—coming as it did from a magistrate, mind you.” “Bring me a measure of your best wine,” said Gray, “and whatever you have in the house that I may make a breakfast on.” This liberal order immediately arrested the landlord’s attention, as Gray fully intended it should, and mine host of the King’s Bounty turned instantly all his attention to a visitor who ordered refreshments on so magnificent a scale for the house. “Di—rectly, sir!” cried he, “your worship shall have some wine such as the bishop has not better in his cellars and they do say that he keeps his Canary cool in an excavation that goes from his palace some feet under the bed of the Thames.” “I wish for the best of everything in your house,” said Gray. “By-the-by, was not that Sir Frederick Hartleton whom I saw leave your house a few minutes since?” “An it please your honour, it was,” said the landlord. “Mayhap your worship is a friend of his, and comes to speak to the poor creature above?” “Eh?—a—yes—yes.” “By my faith, I thought as much.” “Yet, stay,” said Gray, for he was cautious to the extreme. “Do you know when Sir Frederick will be here again?” “Not till to-morrow, sir.” “Humph! Then I will see the poor creature you mention.” “Certainly, sir. This way, sir. Your breakfast will be ready by the time your worship comes down stairs again.” “Who can this be that he calls the poor creature?” thought Gray, as he followed the landlord up stairs. “This way, sir,” exclaimed the loquacious host. “It was touch and go with her, poor thing, they say; but Sir Frederick saved her. I dare say, however, your honour knows all about it. That room, sir, if you please.”