I had decided that he might not be my man, but I would be as well to have him beside me till I saw if there were any others further on. Besides, it was already growing dark, and I had little time to lose. The bundle of rags got up, and I had a better view of his face as he made his ragged legs comfortable under the knee cloth. It was clean shaven and by no means so loutish as his speech. His hair, I saw, was cropped to the bone. I drove on till it was dark without overtaking any other, drawing my companion out on the weather and other every-day topics. “What are you when you are at home?” I at length half jocularly asked. I had kept him at arm’s length, so to speak, all the way, never allowing him to become familiar in the least. He paused over his answer, looking up at my face through the darkness. “I’d astonish you if I told you,” he at last replied, in a somewhat altered tone. “Indeed!” I answered, apparently with great indifference, but really trembling with eager curiosity. “Yes, I am really a clergyman, but reduced to this state by my own folly.” At last I had him! There he was sitting close by me in the dark, betrayed by his own pet phrase, so truthful, and yet so often used to deceive. I could have shouted with exultation, but I was too anxious to see him safe under lock and key. Plenty of time for crowing when I had him in the cells. I gave a dissatisfied grunt and a dry “Imphum,” and remained silent for some time. During that interval a bright thought flashed upon me, and at the first cross road I purposely turned the horse off the main road, and went on till we were stopped by a farm. I had gig lamps, and these I got lighted, and then I mounted and turned back till we reached the main road, which I boldly turned into—in the direction leading back to Edinburgh. “Are you sure you’re not going the wrong way?” said my companion, after a little. “I am going my way—this is my road,” I replied, with some gruffness; “I can’t say anything about yours. I think you said you weren’t particular?” “All right—neither I am,” he said, evidently not relishing the thought of being turned out on the dark road in such a rain. “Just drive on, please, and never mind me.” I did drive on at my fastest. I soon reached the little station-house; but before that I had decided that it might not be very safe to trust Johnston in such a place for the night, and I passed it without stopping. At last the lights of the city appeared in front of us, and my companion roused himself to watch them with growing interest. “What town is this?” he at length asked. “Edinburgh,” I shortly answered. “What! Edinburgh?” he cried, almost jumping up from his seat. “How can that be? I thought we were driving towards Bathgate?” “We were at first, but I changed my mind and turned back. Want to get down, or will you go further?”