“There you are,” said the latter, pointing to the bed. “In less than half an hour I shall be at the station; make yourself comfortable. We shan’t meet again for some days, that’s quite certain, and so good-bye for the present.” “Good-bye, Jim, and many thanks.” Then, as the man was about to pass out, Peace said, quietly―― “Oh, by the way, there is no occasion for you to say you have seen me, or, indeed, I’ve been here. It’s a little private matter I’ve been about. You understand.” “A nod’s as good as a wink to a blind horse,” returned the other, with a chuckle. “No one will know anything from me, Charlie.” After the departure of his friend, Peace was too disturbed in his mind to sleep. He watched from the little window of his dormitory the carriage and pair, driven towards the railway station by his friend, the groom. When the vehicle was lost to sight, he walked towards the door, took the key out of the lock, and fastened the door on the inside. In a few minutes after this he stretched himself on the bed, and sank into a deep sleep――the village clock had struck eleven before he awoke. He now began to consider his course of action; he felt perfectly secure from observation in his present quarters. No one would for a moment imagine that he was safely ensconced in one of the apartments of the stables adjoining a gentleman’s house. He thought it best to watch and wait; it would not do to be too precipitate; in the dusk of the evening he might creep out and get clear off. He found in the groom’s bedroom some bread and cold meat, which served him for a meal, and he prepared himself to pass the lonely hours as best he could. The day wore on tediously enough, but the longest day must have an end. And when the grey mists of evening began to encircle the objects seen before so distinctly from the window, Charles Peace prepared to take his departure. He disguised himself in so complete a manner as to almost defy detection. He made himself up as a hawker. He took the precaution to always carry a hawker’s licence, made out in a fictitious name; the licence itself, however, was genuine enough. He heard, as he descended the creaking stairs, the boy whistling in the stable. Agreeably to the directions he had received, he handed the key to the lad, at the same time dropping a shilling in his hand. The lad stared with astonishment, which was not unmixed with alarm. A few words from Peace soon reassured him. “But ye’ve been ’nation quiet all the day though,” said the lad, with a broad grin. “People generally are quiet when they are asleep, my lad,” was the ready rejoinder. “Ugh! ’spose so.” Peace did not want to have further parley. His purpose was served, and he therefore proceeded on his journey. CHAPTER III. COMMITTAL OF GREGSON――JANE TELLS A TERRIBLE TALE――BROXWELL GAOL.