He started the next moment, and looked round, with one hand in his breast, to see if the string of his front was all right, for he occasionally put on one of those delusive articles of linen attire when he dressed for dinner, and always went in torture for the rest of the evening, on account of the treacherous nature of the garment--one which invariably seeks to betray the weakness of a man's linen-closet by bursting off strings or creeping insidiously round under his arm. In fact, one of Richard Shingle's, on a certain evening, deposited the bottom of the well-starched plaits in his soup, by making a dive out from within his vest as he leaned forward. "Glass of wine, Jessie?" said Dick, as the dinner went on; and to oblige him the poor girl took a little, just as Mrs Shingle exclaimed-- "Bless me! I have no handkerchief. Did you take my handkerchief, Jessie?" "Lor'! mother, don't talk of your handkerchief as if it was a pill. You do roll 'em up pretty tight, but not quite so bad as that." The boy, who was waiting at table, exploded in a burst of laughter, which he tried to hide by rattling the glasses on the sideboard, and then turning uncomfortable as his master gave him a severe frown. "What's the pudden, my dear?" said Dick at last. "It's a new kind," said Mrs Shingle. "You'll have some? I told the cook how to make it." "That I will, and so will Jessie. I always like your puddens, mother, they make one feel so good while one's eating them--they're so innocent." "You've not seen any more of your brother, I suppose?" said Mrs Shingle just then, inadvertently. "Well, I have seen him," said Dick,--"twice. He's up to some little game." "What do you mean?" "Why, that he's got a man always watching me. He follows me like my shadow. He wants to find out my business, or else he's going to try on his little dodge again. But I'm not afraid. Jessie, my gal, what is it?" "Nothing, father--nothing," she said, trying to smile as she rose from the table. "The room is too hot. I think I'll go upstairs." "I'll go with you, my darling," exclaimed Mrs Shingle; but Jessie insisted on her staying, and she had her own way, going up to sit at her window, as was her wont, to watch wistfully along the darkened road for the relief that seemed as if it would never come. She had been there about an hour, when suddenly she started up, and gazed down excitedly into the garden, where she could plainly make out the figure of a man; and as she looked he raised his hands to her and sharply beckoned her to come down. "At last!" she cried, with a look of joy flashing from her eyes; and, going to the door, she listened for a few moments, hesitated, and then went below to the breakfast-room, which opened with French casements on to the garden, unfastened one, and in the dim light a figure passed in rapidly and closed the window.