As for the officer he was so astonished and confounded at the whole affair, that after rubbing his eyes twice, he looked a long way down the street, with the full expectation of seeing something coming which might, in some measure, account for Learmont’s sudden and extraordinary flight. That the mere sight of the face of the beautiful girl, who was with him, could cause such an excess of terror, he could not imagine, and when a servant came from the hall, and said to him,— “What was it! What scared him?” he replied— “I’ll be hanged if I know. He was going up the steps, like Claude Duval at a minuet, when he was taken aback by something.” “It’s very odd,” said the servant. “You may say that,” remarked the officer. “Come away—come away,” said Ada faintly, “to Sir Francis Hartleton; come, come.” “Certainly,” said the officer, “but this here is, out of all hand, the rummiest go ever I seed in all my life.” “Come, come,” repeated Ada, “I would not see that man again for worlds.” “No wonder he’s frightened you. My own very hair nearly stood a’ end. I’m afeared he’s done something queer, and wants to be found out, that’s what I am. I supposes as he seed some sort o’ ghostesses as made him take on so.” Ada sighed. “Don’t you mind it,” said the officer. “You may depend as he’s a victim of conscience, he is. I once before seed a face very like that as he made when he staggered up the steps.” “Indeed?” “Yes. As like it as one pea is like another.” “Where saw you it?” “In the condemned cell.” “The condemned cell; where, is that?” “In Newgate. It’s where we stow a fellow afore his execution. There was a man named Rankin, who had committed a murder, and he was regularly tried and condemned. Well, he carried it off with a high hand, swearing and blustering away, as if he didn’t care a bit, and roaring out as he’d die game, which I knew very well he wouldn’t, for the noisy ones never do.” “Well, you see he was put in the cell, and we promised to wake him in the morning, in answer to which piece of politeness he swore away at us like a house o’ fire.” “At half-past six, I and another went to get him up, and when we went in, he never said not a word, and I cried out, ‘hilloa.’ Still he never spoke, and I held up his light, and there he was, a standing straight up against the further end of the cell with his eyes half an inch out of his head, and some such a face as that Learmont puts on.” Ada shuddered and the officer continued. “When we went up to him, what do you think we found?” “I cannot tell.” “He was stone dead and stiffened up against the wall of his cell, and our chaplain said as how he must have seen the devil all of a sudden. But here we are at Sir Francis Hartleton’s.”