"_I_ don't know," answered the Squire. "When I was a young lad--younger than you--staying here for the races with my father--but we stayed at the Hop-pole, next door, which was the first inn then--I remember we were so wicked one night as to go about ringing and knocking at all the doors----" "You and your father, sir?" asked Tod, innocently. "My father! no!" roared the Squire. "What do you mean, Joe? How dare you! My father go about the town knocking at doors and ringing at bells! How dare you suggest such an idea! We left my father, sir, at the hotel with his friends at their wine, as you are leaving me with my friends here now. It was I and half-a-dozen other young rascals who did it--more shame for us. I can't be sure how many bell-wires we broke. The world has grown wiser since then, though I don't think it's better; and--and mind you walk quietly home. Don't get into a fight, or quarrel, or anything of that kind. The streets are sure to be full of rough people and pickpockets." Harry Parker was waiting for us in the hotel gateway. He said he feared we should be late, and thought we must have been eating dinner for a week by the time we took over it. "I'm not coming with you, Tod," I said; "I'll join you presently." Tod turned round and faced me. "What on earth's that for, Johnny?" "Oh, nothing. I'll come soon. You two go on." "Suppose you don't get a place!" cried Parker to me. "Oh, I shall get one fast enough: it won't be so crowded as all that." "Now, look here, lad," said Tod, with his face of resolution; "you are up to some dodge. What is it?" "My head aches badly," I said--and that was true. "I can't go into that hot place until I have had a spell of fresh air. But I shall be sure to join you later, if I can." My headaches were always allowed. I had them rather often. Not the splitting, roaring pain that Tod would get in his head on rare occasions, once a twelvemonth, or so, when anything greatly worried him; but bad enough in all conscience. He said no more; and set off with Harry Parker up the street towards the Saracen's Head. The stars were flickering through the trees in Sansome Walk, looking as bright as though it were a frosty night in winter. It was cool and pleasant: the great heat of the day--which must have given me my headache--had passed. Mrs. Bird was already at the spot. She drew me underneath the trees on the side, looking up the walk as though she feared she had been followed. A burst of distant music crashed out and was borne towards us on the air: the circus band, at the Saracen's Head. Lucy still glanced back the way she had come. "Are you afraid of anything, Lucy?" "There is no danger, I believe," she answered; "but I cannot help being timid: for, if what I am doing were discovered, I--I--I don't know what they would do to me." "You did not come this afternoon."