I was away early, snatching a bite of breakfast in the larder, and stocking my pockets with morsels for the road, for I didn't know where or how I was to get my next meal. As I left the gate I should have turned south straight away, but I knew if I turned north for a hundred yards I should have another sight of Jenny's window. I didn't stop to ask myself why I should want another sight of Jenny's window. Perhaps I rather reproached myself for my coldness to her the night before when she so evidently wanted to heal the wound she had dealt me. However that might be, the fact remains recorded against me that I yielded to the unreasoning prompting of my heart to throw a farewell kiss to her window before I started again on my travels, with our next meeting shrouded somewhere in the mists ahead. I reached the heap of stones where I had hidden from the false-legged beggarman, and gazed back at the house. I could see Jenny's window, black among the ivied stone. But as I looked a white figure appeared there, and I knew it was Jenny. I sprang on to the pile of stones and waved my hands. She saw me, and waved in return. For a moment a strange unaccustomed thrill ran along my blood, and I thought I would go back to her for a warmer leave-taking. But she had gone; and at that moment I heard stealthy steps approach me. I looked round, to see the officers Worthing had warned me of. I sprang from the pile and ran, but there was a third who had cut off my retreat, and I was hopelessly trapped. My arms were tied behind me, and with threats and proddings I was marched away for Rancey Bridge. The reverse from freedom to captivity was so sudden that I was numbed by it and couldn't think. It seemed like the kind of thing that happened in nightmares. I should awake soon and find it all an ugly fancy. But one consoling thought re-echoed through my mind: at least Jenny hadn't seen. It was some time before my brain began to work again. So overwhelmed was I that the blow seemed final and irretrievable. I could see nothing beyond the cell they were haling me to, though that I could see clearly enough. And it wasn't the horror of the thing that appalled me; I could face that. The loneliness and the dark meant little to me. Rather it was the loss of my liberty that oppressed me. A moment before, and I was my own master; I was off for the _Dolphin_ and the delights of a summer-time with my father, though I hadn't considered very deeply upon what foundations my hopes had been built. Still, here I was with nothing but the prospect of four walls about me, closing me in and shutting out the wonderful air of heaven and the sound and beauty of the sea. I remember I experienced one pang of conscience, for a voice said that this was retribution for trying to deceive Jenny. I had left her, pretending to seek for her father's foe, when in reality I was merely bent on finding my own father, and having found him I should in all probability have forgotten Jenny and her mission.