‘Hush, you fool!’ exclaimed his master in a low whisper; ‘you should know better than to speak of what does not concern you. Be wise, and hold your tongue.’ ‘Your pardon, Sir Carnaby,’ replied Derrick; ‘it shall not be spoken of again.’ ‘And mind, Derrick, in case we should be inquired after, let the rustic boors know that I am Mr Morton, a landowner from somewhere or other. You, Derrick, are John Jones; so mind and answer to your name. D’ye hear?’ The attendant’s face relaxed into a sly grin as he answered: ‘I hear, sir.’ The truth is, Mr Morton—or to call him by his proper name, Sir Carnaby Vincent—was a young baronet of good family, and reputed to be enormously rich. In consequence of his being mixed up in some disturbances occasioned by the Jacobite party, he had found it necessary, at a previous period, to avoid the cognisance of the authorities. But a certain nobleman having interested himself in the youthful plotter’s behalf, the affair was hushed up, and Sir Carnaby returned to society once more. Having a relish for all kinds of intrigue, besides being of too excitable a temperament to exist long in a state of quiet, the madcap young fellow again entered heart and soul into the intrigues of Prince Charles’ followers, and this time succeeded only too well in attracting notice. A warrant was issued for his apprehension; and Sir Carnaby once more had to seek safety in flight, taking with him a quantity of valuable papers, and the blessings of all his companions engaged in the perilous cause. He was accompanied by only one person, his servant Derrick, a rough but doggedly faithful retainer, who had followed the fortunes of his house for nearly thirty years. Derrick himself cared not a jot for the Jacobite party to which Sir Carnaby was so attached; his first thought was to follow his master, and share the dangers which he might have to encounter. Their retreat from the metropolis was safely effected, much to the satisfaction of the baronet, who was really seriously alarmed at this second unlucky discovery. From London they journeyed through Cambridgeshire, Sir Carnaby’s plan being to lie quiet for a few days in the heart of the fens, then afterwards proceeding to some obscure seaport on the borders of the Wash, to take sail for a foreign land, where he could best forward the fortunes both of himself and his hapless Prince. CHAPTER II.—THE JACOBITE. ‘Where did you place the saddle-bags, Derrick?’ asked Sir Carnaby, when Hobb Dipping had quitted the old wainscoted apartment in which his distinguished visitor was about to partake of supper. Speech was a gift which nature had bestowed very sparingly upon the attendant; moreover, he was possessed of a rough, unmelodious voice. Pointing towards a chair in one corner, he slowly ejaculated: ‘There, sir—underneath.’