“If you goes along that ’ere road to the left, about a ’underd yards further back—you’ll nab ’im—sure as eggs,” he exclaimed. “’E was runnin’ like a good ’un—tol’ me ’e was a doin’ it for a wager. W’en you ketches ’im, guv’nor—’it ’im one fer me—will yer—for a tryin’ ter deceive.” “I should like to have a look inside your caravan,” said the man, quietly, jumping down from the gig. “W’y—certainly,” responded the Captain. “It’s a nice roomy place, pervided yer don’t git yer feet in the fireplace. I’d ’ave ’ad it painted special, if I’d knowed you was comin’.” The man looked in at the open door of the vehicle; looked sharply at the Captain, and at the driver; and climbed into the gig again. “Drive on,” he said; and the gig turned back on the road it had come. “Drive on, mess-mate,” said the Captain, climbing into the caravan. Philip Chater, lying behind the hedge, watched the two vehicles until they were out of sight in the darkness; then, when there seemed nothing more to be feared, he crept out, and struck off towards Bamberton. “What was the message?” he muttered to himself. “‘I love him—and believe in his innocence.’ Dear girl! I’ll see you to-night—if I die for it!” CHAPTER XIX HAUNTED That one thought dominated all else in the mind of Philip Chater. She believed him innocent—and she loved him. True, the message was not for him, in reality; it was for the man who lay in an unknown grave. But, having taken that dead man’s place, he claimed this message also, as belonging to him. “I have taken the burden of his sins upon me—I am in peril of my life on account of them,” he thought. “Surely I have the right to claim this sweeter portion of what was his, as some leaven in the weight of my punishment. Yes—I’ll see her first; after that, if they capture me, I’ll go back with a light heart.” Caution was necessary in approaching the village; for, by the time he reached it, daylight had fully come, and the people were astir. Keeping well on the outskirts of it, and yet in a place from which he could easily and rapidly reach the spot he had marked out in his mind as his destination, he came to a little copse, on the edge of some fields, and settled himself, as comfortably as possible, in a deep dry ditch, overhung with brambles and bushes, which completely hid him from the sight of any one passing near. Knowing that he must wait until nightfall, before daring to venture out, he resolved to remain in this place, with all the patience he could muster.