"No, I do not, but I soon can," answered the deformed youth. "He took me into the cottage, and made the lady give him some paper and a pen and ink, and wrote a note to the postmaster, and gave me a half-crown, and said I should have the same every week. The postmaster wrapped up the letters and things in a bit of paper, and I did not think to look in; but I can soon find out if you want to know." "No," answered Stephen Gimlet, drily, "I know already. Well, Bill, good bye, I must go about my work," and so they parted. CHAPTER XXXIII. I beg Captain Moreton's pardon, I left him running across a field in not the brightest possible night that ever shone. I should, at least, have taken him safely home before now wherever that home might be, which would be indeed difficult to say, for the home of Captain Moreton was what people who pore over long lines of figures call a _variable quantity_. However, there was once, at least there is reported to have been once, for I do not take upon myself to answer for the fact, a certain young person called Galanthis. She was a maid of-all-work in a very reputable Greek family, and was called as a witness in the famous crim. con. case of Amphitryon _versus_ Jupiter. She proved herself very skilful in puzzling an examining counsel, and there is an old nonsensical story of her having been changed into a weasel to commemorate the various turnings and windings of her prevarications. Nevertheless, not this convenient Abigail, nor any of her pliant race, ever took more turnings and windings than did Captain Moreton on the night after his escape from his prison in the vestry. Every step of the country round he knew well, and up one narrow lane, through this small field, along that wood path, by another short cut, he went, sometimes walking and sometimes running, till at length he came to a common of no very great extent, lying half-way, or nearly so, between the town of Tarningham and the house called Burton's Inn. The common was called Chandleigh Heath; and on the side next to the inn was the village of Chandleigh, while between the heath and Tarningham lay about two miles of well-cultivated but not very populous fields and meadows. At an angle of the common a retired hosier of Chandleigh had built himself a cottage--a cottage suited to himself and his state--consisting of six rooms, all of minute size, and he had, moreover, planted himself a garden, in which roses strove with apple-trees and cherries. The hosier--as retired hosiers will very often do--died one day, and left the cottage to his nephew, a minor. The guardians strove to let the cottage furnished, but for upwards of a year they strove in vain; its extremely retired situation was against it, till one day it was suddenly tenanted, and right glad were they to get a guinea a week and ask no questions. It was to this retired cottage, then of the retired hosier, that Captain Moreton's steps were ultimately bent, and as it had windows down to the ground