“You ought to be able to do so with common prudence. You are a skilful workman, and, with ordinary care and attention, might earn a respectable livelihood.” “At it again,” exclaimed Bristow with a coarse laugh. “The same old game――moralising. What man was ever made sober by preaching I should like to know?” “And do you never intend to reform?” “Me? Ha, ha! I’m afraid I’m too far gone for that.” “Then I should be ashamed to acknowledge it, if I were you――that’s all I have to say about the matter, Bristow; you are positively incorrigible.” “You’re a good fellow, Charlie, but curse your preaching. I never could stand that; but there, I don’t mean to offend you.” “Oh, you don’t offend me. What I say is for your own good. It is no business of mine, you may answer. Perhaps not, but nevertheless it is my duty to offer you some advice, however unpalatable it may be.” “You ought to have been a parson, Charlie, upon my word you ought. You’d ha’ made your fortune in the preaching line.” “Well, say no more upon the subject. I have business to attend to, and so we must part.” “Where am I to send to you? Where do you hang out now?” “I am constantly on the move, am travelling, but if you want to communicate with me, address a letter to the post-office, Sheffield, and it will be sure to reach me.” “You’re a good fellow. There’s no house near where we can have a parting glass? Just one, you know, to show there’s no animosity.” “There is no house near, and so think of what I have said, and farewell till we meet again.” “Good bye, Peace, and good luck attend you,” said Bristow, shaking his companion by the hand, and so the two parted. Peace proceeded with his picture frames towards the house of his customer, and John Bristow went in the opposite direction. “Strange, remarkably strange, my meeting with that man,” he murmured, as he walked along. “And so he knows no more about Bessie and his wife than I do myself. It is altogether most mysterious and incomprehensible, but there’s something in the background which has not yet come to light.” After delivering his frames he returned to his workshop, where he was occupied for an hour or two. He then sought the hospitable parlour of the “Carved Lion.” On the following morning, while he was at breakfast in the club-room, Brickett came in and said with much concern―― “This is a sad business at Saltwich.” “What is that?” inquired Peace, looking up from his smoking and fragrant cup of coffee. “Ah, of course――I forgot you haven’t heard. “No. What is it?” “A poor fellow has been found in the road in a dying condition.” “Who is he?” “No one seems to know. He is a stranger to these parts and is supposed to be a tramp.” “Indeed!――is he in any way injured?” “Most seriously, they say――skull’s fractured. They have taken him to the workhouse.” “Is nothing known about him?”