To be Rochester was not only to be a lord, it was more than that. It was to be famous, a national character, whose picture was printed on the retina of the million. Never had Jones felt more inclined to stick to his position than now, with the hounds on his traces, a tramp for his companion, and darkness ahead. He felt that if he could once get to London, once lay his hands on that eight thousand pounds lying in the National Provincial Bank, he could fight. Fight for freedom, get lawyers to help him, and retain his phantom coronet. He had ceased to fear madness; all that dread of losing himself had vanished, at least for the moment. Hoover had cured him. Meanwhile they talked as they went, the tramp laying down the law as to rights over commons and waste lands, seeming absolutely to forget that he was talking to, or supposed to be talking to, a landed proprietor. At last they reached the white ribbon that runs over the cliffs from Sandbourne to Northbourne and beyond. "Here's the road," said the tramp, "and I'll be takin' leave of your lor'ship. I'll take it easy for a bit amongst them bushes, there's no call for me to hurry. I shawnt forget meetin' your lor'ship. Blimy if I will. Me sittin' there under that hedge an' thinkin' of that half quid I dropped over 'White Lady' and your lor'ship comin' along--It gets me!" Up to this moment of parting he had not once Lordshipped Jones. Jones, feeling in his pocket, produced the half sovereign, which, with five pounds one and nine pence made up his worldly wealth at the moment. He handed it over, and the tramp spat on it for luck. Then they parted, and the fugitive resumed his way with a lighter pocket but a somewhat lighter heart. There are people who increase and people who reduce one's energy, it is sometimes enough to look at them without even talking to them. The tramp belonged to the former class. He had cheered Jones. There was nothing particularly cheery in his conversation, all the same the effect had been produced. Now, along the cliff road and coming from the direction of Northbourne a black speck developed, resolving itself at last into the form of an old man carrying a basket. The basket was filled with apples and Banbury cakes. Jones bought eight Banbury cakes and two apples with his one and nine pence, and then took his seat on the warm turf by the way to devour them. He lay on his side as he ate and cursed Hoover. To lie here for an hour on this idyllic day, to watch the white gulls flying, to listen to the whisper of the sea far below, what could be better than that? He determined if ever he should win freedom and money to return here for a holiday. He was thinking this, when, raised now on his elbow, he saw something moving amongst the bushes and long grass of the waste lands bordering the cliff road. It was a man, a man on all fours, yet moving swiftly, a sight natural enough in the deer-stalking Highlands, but uncanny on these Wessex downs.