“Thank your worships, kindly,” said the old woman, echoed by her feeble old husband, and out they toddled. A servant from the hall-farm was ordered to keep an eye on them from a distance, but not to let them perceive him. The magistrates felt bound to this precaution to satisfy the law, though they had not any doubt of the old couple surrendering themselves. The young man, accordingly, went along the fields at a distance, as if engaged in looking after sheep, or the state of the fields, and saw the old couple slowly wander down to the river, and sit down, and remain for an hour. Then they went on again, and then staid in some pleasant nook, as if they were making the most of their liberty, and their beloved field-life. Thus they went on, till they came to the main ferry, which they crossed, without seeming to say anything to the ferryman. When over, instead of taking the direct way to the town, they struck away to the left into the great meadows, and in a direction towards a manufacturing suburb. The young man now began to have some fears that their intention was to cut across, and get into that suburb, and hide themselves. He prepared to be not far off, and if they attempted this, to prevent it. But he soon found that they only went to a meadow stream, where the autumn flowers, the purple loosestrife, with its tall spikes, and the luscious meadow-sweet, and white water-ranunculuses were still blowing, and of which the old woman gathered a nosegay to carry with her into the prison. Duly, at four o’clock, the old couple appeared at the prison-door, and surrendered themselves. They had gone to the house of some poor acquaintance, and had tea, and borrowed a mug to put their flowers into water; and now they had voluntarily entered the great and, to them, dreaded house of bondage. There we may leave them to their fate for the present, with this reflection, that if they had not the liberty of the fields and moorlands, they were, at least, relieved from the daily dread of the murderous hand of Scammel. Whilst these events had been taking place, George Woodburn had written to Elizabeth Drury, to let her know that the mystery of her father’s end was now cleared up, and to inform her of the fate of Scammel. He also asked her for the key of her father’s desk, with permission to examine his books, to discover whether it would show the absence and amount of the money taken by Scammel from her father’s pocket. In her reply, which came by return of post, she said:—