Of course, I accepted the watch. What else could I do? Sticklers for morality may refuse to indorse my conduct in so doing; but these same stern moralists would have probably acted precisely as I did under the same circumstances. I was by no means so sure of my position that I could afford to affront or offend my strange friends in any way. Under that easy sang-froid, careless banter, and studied politeness which Gardiner had shown throughout our conversation, I knew that there remained a will that brooked no contradiction, and that had never yet been thwarted. Under circumstances like these, where personal danger enters as a large factor in determining our ultimate action, the majority of us are apt to give an easy and liberal interpretation to the minor ethics. I took the watch, uttering some commonplace words of acceptance in doing so. “And now, Mr Fellgate, I think our interview is at an end. I am glad you like the watch, and I think you will find that it is as good as it looks. In all probability, you and I will never meet again. But if ever you hear any of those snivelling city counter-jumpers maligning me and my brave fellows here, you at least may kindly think that we’re perhaps not so black as they paint us.—Jim, take care of the editor.—Good-night.” I was once more blindfolded, and Jim and I returned as we had come. When we reached the confines of the forest, however, we dismounted, and my companion removed my bandage. The first gray glimmer of the dawn was stealing through the bush. “You’ll have to walk the rest of the way home, Mr Fellgate. I’m like the ghost in the play, you understand—must hook it with the first light. Sorry I can’t take you to your door.” “Don’t mention it; I know every inch of the road,” I said, bent upon answering him in the same vein. “You’re a pretty cool hand, Mr Editor. Didn’t think you scribbling chaps were that sort. No offence. Adieu!” When I reached my rooms, I found my landlady already astir. She had not been much surprised to find my bedroom empty, for it had once or twice happened that I had to spend the night at the office, although that was not a frequent occurrence, the _Beacon_ being only a bi-weekly issue. I lay down on the sofa in my sitting-room and took a couple of hours’ sleep. When I awoke, the events of the night had for a little all the feeling of a dream; but that fancy quickly passed away. Over my morning coffee I examined my newly and so strangely acquired gift at greater leisure. I may say in conclusion that it has been my constant companion ever since that night, and I don’t think there is a better time-keeper out of London. Would you like to look at it closer?’ Fellgate handed me the watch. It was a remarkably handsome hunting-watch, very finely finished, and bearing the name of a famous London maker. Inside, I read this inscription: Presented to ALISON FELLGATE, Esquire, by FRANK GARDINER.