"It won't do, sir, tonight," replied the man. "I was directed to tell you that you must not come on now, but that if you will be there to-morrow evening at nine, you will not only see him you want, but get all the information that he can give." "It is very unfortunate," answered Edgar; "the assizes open the day after to-morrow; this trial will be one of the first, in all probability, and we shall have no time to prepare. But I will be wherever you will name, of course; or will you come and guide me?" "I will be there waiting for you," said the other; "but you must swear not to say one word to any person which can lead people to find out where the gentleman is, on any account whatever." "Most willingly," replied Edgar Adelon; "under no circumstances whatever, by word, or look, or sign, will I betray the place of his concealment, upon my honour." "That will do," rejoined Oldkirk. "And now, to tell you where to come. I dare say you know the country pretty well?" "Oh! yes," answered the young gentleman; "there are few parts within twenty miles round where I could not find my way." "Well, then, do you know the old workhouse at Langley?" asked the countryman. "It stands just at the back of the village." "Perfectly," replied Edgar. "Am I to be there?" "You will find me near the door at nine to-morrow," said Oldkirk. "And now, master, can you find your road home?" "As easily as if it were broad day," answered his companion. "And now, Oldkirk, let me say, I am sorry I used a threat towards you; but you must forgive it; for when one is so deeply interested as I am in proving the innocence of a friend, one often says things one would not say at another time." "There, don't say any more about it," replied the other. "May be some day you may lend me a hand, and that will clear all scores; so good night, sir!" Edgar bade him farewell, mounted his horse, and spurred on towards Brandon, seeing not a living creature till he came within a hundred yards of the park gates. His heart was lightened, and his spirits, which had been greatly depressed, rose high at the thoughts of serving, nay, perhaps of saving, one for whom, from the first, he had in his young enthusiasm conceived the warmest friendship. The wind had somewhat abated, but the rain still continued when he approached the park, and the night was so dark that his horse was nearly upon a foot-passenger before he saw him. The person whom he overtook was walking slowly on, with an umbrella covering his head and shoulders; but the sound of the falling hoofs startled him, and made him jump aside just as Edgar checked his horse. "Is that you, Edgar?" said Mr. Filmer, turning round; and Edgar immediately sprang to the ground, apologizing for having nearly ridden over him. "The truth is, father," he said, "I was riding fast to catch dear Eda before she goes to bed, and to tell her the tidings which have made me very joyful."