“So do I,” thought Miss Willing, with a sigh. And the coach having now reached that elegant hostelry, the George and Blue Badger, in High Holborn, Miss showed her knowledge of it by intimating to Billy that that was the place for him to alight; so taking off her glove she tendered him her soft hand, which Billy grasped eagerly, still urging her to let him see her home, or at all events to the Green Man, in Oxford Street. Miss, however, firmly but kindly declined his services, assuring him repeatedly that she appreciated his kindness, which she evinced by informing him that she was going to a friend’s at No. —, Grosvenor Square, that she would only be in town for a couple of nights; but that if he _really_ wished to see her again,—“_really_ wished it,” she repeated with an emphasis, for she didn’t want to be trifled with,—she would be happy to see him to tea at eight o’clock on the following evening. “_Eight o’clock!_” gasped Billy. “No. ——, Gruvenor Square,” repeated he. “I knows it—I’ll be with you to a certainty—I’ll be with you to a”—(puff)—“certainty.” So saying, he made a sandwich of her fair taper-fingered hand, and then responded to the inquiry of the guard, if there was any one to “git oot there,” by alighting. And he was so excited that he walked off, leaving his new silk umbrella and all his luggage in the coach, exclaiming, as he worked his way through the fog to Doughty Street, “No.——, Gruvenor Square—eight o’clock—eight o’clock—No.——, Gruvenor Square—was there ever such a beauty!—be with her to a certainty, be with her to a certainty.” Saying which, he gave an ecstatic bound, and next moment found himself sprawling a-top of a murder!—crying apple-woman in the gutter. Leaving him there to get up at his leisure, let us return to his late companion in the coach. Scarcely was the door closed on his exit, ere a sharp shrill “_You don’t know me!—you don’t know me!_” sounded from under the pheasant-feather bonnet, and shot through Miss Willing like a thrill. “Yes, no, yes; who is it?” ejaculated she, thankful they were alone. “Sarey Grimes, to be sure,” replied the voice, in a semi-tone of exultation. “Sarah Grimes!” exclaimed Miss Willing, recollecting the veriest little imp of mischief that ever came about a place, the daughter of a most notorious poacher. “So it is! Why, Sarah, who would ever have thought of seeing you grown into a great big woman.” “I thought you didn’t know me,” replied Sarah; “I used often to run errands for you,” added she.