His wits being much sharpened, as his brain became clearer, he began to think, with rising hope, of Bamberton, from which he had so unceremoniously taken flight. The idea appealed to him; with growing confidence, he remembered, in these more sober moments, that the man he had assaulted with the decanter had had but a passing glimpse of him, and might not be likely to recognise him. At all events, the distance was not great, and the place had a public-house—two public-houses, unless his eyes had deceived him. Brightened with this thought, and with the prospect of having a new field in which to borrow, and finding that he had sufficient money in his pocket to pay for the journey, he set off for Liverpool Street; and, in a little time, was standing—an incongruous figure enough in the spring landscape—outside the little station which was within a few miles of Bamberton, moistening his dry lips with his tongue, and wondering where he was to get a drink. In the days—over a quarter of a century before—when Cripps had known Bamberton, the little town where the railway now ended had been but an insignificant village, and the railway (which had made its fortune) a thing undreamt of. At the present time, therefore, the Doctor stood on strange ground; and the past was so far away, that he had absolutely no idea in which direction Bamberton lay. Divided between the necessity for reaching the village, and the more pressing need for refreshment, the little man looked about him for some promising stranger, who might have a kindly heart and a spare threepence in his pocket. Standing almost at his elbow, and staring down the road, in altogether as gloomy a fashion as himself, was a young man, quietly dressed in country style—a mere lad. Cripps, after glancing at him once or twice, edged towards him. “I suppose, my friend,” he said—“I suppose you don’t happen to know the way towards Bamberton—do you?” The young man looked at him for a moment, and then smiled. “I ought to know the way, sir,” he replied; “I was born there.” “And a most excellent place to be born in, I should imagine,” said Cripps. “Delightful scenery, and—and a public-house or two, just—just to relieve the monotony of things. Er—by the way—they don’t seem to have one just about here—eh?” “Just across the road,” replied the young man, jerking his head in that direction. Dr. Cripps began to conceive a dislike for the lad, as one who could not understand the true meaning of a hint; but he tried again. “Is—is the liquor there worth drinking?” he asked, in a confidential tone. “It’s a long time since I tried it,” replied the young man carelessly. Cripps saw an opening here; he laughed feebly, and clapped the young man on the shoulder. “Ha—ha—very good,” he cried—“very good indeed. But you wouldn’t object to tasting it now, I suppose?”