It came out, over the Burgundy, that Sir Hilary passed most of his time in Paris, but often repaired to Calais or Boulogne to be for the while nearer England. He still remained from his own country because he dreaded being called on by the law for an account of the killing of Mr. Bullcott,--not that he feared the outcome as to his bodily safety, but that such legal proceedings might bring out the name of his sister, and provide the _Town and Country Magazine_ with a characteristic narrative, in which every one concerned should figure, the vowels in each name supplanted by dashes. Bold as he was in many things, the fox-hunter was timid as to that sort of celebrity. But the non-existence of any one who would desire to see Squire Bullcott's removal avenged, promised eventual safety for Sir Hilary's person; and the general forgetfulness of things past would in time enable him to return home without risk of reviving interest in the affair at the Pelican, although he was forever officially branded by the coroner's verdict as having caused the death of Bullcott under circumstances to be further determined. And now, at the fourth bottle, Sir Hilary insisted on repaying Mr. Wetheral, with interest, for having silenced the landlord of the Pelican. It seemed that Sir Hilary received plenty of money from his estate, and, being given to amusements of the country, knew not how to spend it on the pleasures of Paris. He required that Dick should go along immediately to a tailor's, and fit himself out handsomely, and Dick, seeing how much gratification the Englishman really took in this kind of generosity, made no protest. Nor did he object when the bountiful Berkshire baronet thrust upon him a well-filled purse. In those days, gentlemen had not the petty vanity of refusing to put themselves under obligations to one another. Without any affectation of pride, they readily accepted favors which they knew they would as readily bestow were conditions reversed. So Dick remained Sir Hilary's guest at the hotel that day and night, and the next morning they took post-horses and rode to Samers, Sir Hilary's intention being to proceed in a leisurely way, seeing as much country and drinking as much wine as they could, to Paris. As for Dick, recalling that memorable afternoon's journey of his childhood, he considered now that the words of old Tom MacAlister had been those of an oracle, and that fate designed his road to lead to Paris, whatever plans he might make for himself.