Gregson sat himself down upon the wooden stool in his cell without moving. The bitterness of his thoughts it would not be so easy to describe. He remembered with harrowing distinctness the most remote incident of the night upon which the ill-fated James Hopgood fell beneath the fatal blow. “And that cursed woman!” ejaculated the Badger. “Who would have dreamt of her being an inmate of the farmhouse? And the oily-tongued Peace, he has got clear off, I’ll dare be sworn; and the chances are that he is now playing that old fiddle of his――whilst I――I――” Here he uttered an impious oath, and then lapsed into silence again. He sat for two hours a prey to the most agonising thoughts. At the expiration of that time he uttered curses loud and deep. He ran frantically round his narrow cell. One of the turnkeys opened the door, and told him that he must make less noise. There was a punishment for making an outcry of that nature, and he pointed to one of the printed rules. The “cracksman” answered with a howl of rage, and squatted abjectly on his stone floor. The turnkey, who was pretty well used to scenes of this nature, and who, therefore, made due allowance, repeated his warning and shut the door. Soon after this the prison servant brought a wooden tray in. There were two dishes, each surrounded by a pewter cover. One contained three slices of roast mutton, floating in lukewarm gravy; the other contained four good-sized potatoes. Gregson, who was still on the floor, looked at them supinely. “Governor! thought you would like a little dinner,” said the man kindly; and he propped up a slab which was hanging from the wall, placed the tray on it, reached down a salt dish from a shelf in the corner, where it had grown dusty, in company with a bible and two hymn books. “Will you take beer or wine?” “I want wine,” said the Badger, sulkily. “Very good, I will bring you a pint; it’s against the rules to have any more.” He drank some of the eating-house sherry, which, bad as it was, encouraged him to eat a few mouthfuls. This awoke him from the stupor into which he had fallen, and which had been almost akin to madness. CHAPTER IV. PEACE RETURNS TO BRADFORD――THE SLEEPING BEAUTY――HIS DISGUISE AS A ONE-ARMED MAN――THE ROBBERY AT DUDLEY HILL. Leaving the guilty man to his reflections, we will now return to the hero of our story. Charles Peace, after he left the groom’s little bedroom, succeeded in getting clear out of the neighbourhood, without attracting any observation. As he trudged along he reflected that it would be advisable not to return to Hull. The hue and cry raised in consequence of the events already described would reach Hull, and search would be made by the police in that town.