“Why no—for he married a Frenchwoman, Jack, God rest her dear soul!”—he lifted his hat—“and settled in that country, near Morlaix, in Brittany, among my mother’s kin; my grandfather refusing to see or speak with him, for wedding a poor woman without his consent. And in France was I born and bred, and came to England two years agone; and this last July the old curmudgeon died. So that my father, who was an only son, is even now in England returning to his estates: and with him my only sister Delia. I shall meet them on the way. To think of it!” (and I declare the tears sprang to his eyes): “Delia will be a woman grown, and ah! to see dear Cornwall together!” Now I myself was only a child, and had been made an orphan when but nine years old, by the smallpox that visited our home in Wastdale Village, and carried off my father, the Vicar, and my dear mother. Yet his simple words spoke to my heart and woke so tender a yearning for the small stone cottage, and the bridge, and the grey fells of Yewbarrow above it, that a mist rose in my eyes too, and I turn’d away to hide it. “’Tis a ticklish business,” said I after a minute, “to carry the King’s letter. Not one in four of his messengers comes through, they say. But since it keeps you from the dice——” “That’s true. To-night I make an end.” “To-night!” “Why, yes. To-night I go for my revenge, and ride straight from the inn door.” “Then I go with you to the ‘Crown,’” I cried, very positive. He dropp’d playing with his curl, and look’d me in the face, his mouth twitching with a queer smile. “And so thou shalt Jack: but why?” “I’ll give no reason,” said I, and knew I was blushing. “Then be at the corner of All Hallows’ Church in Turl Street at seven to-night. I lodge over Master Simon’s, the glover, and must be about my affairs. Jack,”—he came near and took my hand—“am sure thou lovest me.” He nodded, with another cordial smile, and went his way up the grove, his amber cloak flaunting like a belated butterfly under the leaf less trees; and so pass’d out of my sight. CHAPTER III. I FIND MYSELF IN A TAVERN BRAWL: AND BARELY ESCAPE. It wanted, maybe, a quarter to seven, that evening, when, passing out at the College Gate on my way to All Hallows’ Church, I saw under the lantern there a man loitering and talking with the porter. ’Twas Master Anthony’s lackey; and as I came up, he held out a note for me. Deare Jack Wee goe to the “Crowne” at VI. o’clock, I having mett with Captain Settle, who is on dewty with the horse tonite, and must to Abendonn by IX. I looke for you— Your unfayned loving A. K. The bearer has left my servise, and his helth conserus me nott. Soe kik him if he tarrie.