Now he was wandering in the country, having had news that seemed to promise success; now away off to some out-of-the-way spot in the New Forest, or Herefordshire, where gipsies made their home; always on the scent, but never successful. He had tracked out scores of burly ruffians, but they were none of them the man he thought to meet. Back again in London in the east, in the lowest purlieus of the south, in common lodging-houses, on waste grounds where caravans were drawn up for the winter; off to racecourses and fairs, and great markets where such men as Jock Morrison were to be found, but always in vain. Once he heard of him, as he thought, at Horncastle, at another time at Newmarket, and again on Epsom Downs, but it was always some great idle ruffian bearing a slight resemblance to Jock Morrison, never the man himself. And in all those solitary wanderings, James Magnus carried the pistol he had bought, and practised with it in his lonely walks. Hundreds upon hundreds of times those chambers were discharged, his marks being trees, fingerposts, saplings rising out of hedges; and though the artist seemed day by day to grow thin, careworn, and weak, his nerves were as if of steel, and each bullet flew upon its course with unerring aim. "The law cannot touch him," he muttered, with a strange smile; "perhaps a bullet can." It was on a bright afternoon in May that, seeing no beauty in the verdant spring and the return of sunny days, James Magnus, heartsick and worn out, crawled back to his chambers to find Burgess anxiously expecting him, for he had been away longer than was his wont. "Oh, I am glad to see you back, sir," he said. "Set down, sir, and let me take off your dusty boots. You look worn out. Lord Harry has been here--not an hour ago." A faint smile came upon the face of Magnus, as he heard the name of his friend, and taking up the card he rose to go. "Going, sir, so soon?" exclaimed his man. "Only to see Lord Artingale," said Magnus, wearily. "I'll soon be back." On reaching his friend's house in Lowndes-square, the servant told him that his lordship had gone into the Park with her ladyship. They were in the open carriage; and wondering at his own weariness, Magnus followed, unconsciously walking straight to the very spot where, what seemed a lifetime back, he and Artingale had leaned over the rail, and first seen poor Julia's fate. He did not recall the fact at first, but stood watching the carriages, thinking how much he would like to meet his old friend; and his face lit up with a smile that had been a stranger to it of late. For a long time it seemed as if his journey had been in vain, and he was listlessly scanning the long lines of vehicles, when suddenly he heard his name uttered, and a carriage was drawn up close to the rails, with Artingale and Cynthia therein, both looking, if not so young, as bright and happy as ever.