sky. The light Ruth was holding fell upon his
uplifted face, and showed it curiously grave and
pale.

"I meant to be guided by that very star,"
he said, " and it has gone out. How singular!"

"Most of her sisters will have followed suit
before you get through the wood," said Lopré.
"But you cannot miss the way. None have
done so yet."

"What the devil do you mean by giving a
fellow God-speed in such a tone as that? I
I tell you what, Augustus," he added,
irresolutely, "I am loth to part with you so
soon, and I —— "

"You shall not, then," interrupted Lopré.
"I'll walk beside, and put you in the way. My
cloak and hat, Ruth."

She brought them, and, the stranger leading
his horse, they walked away together.

"Thy friend hath forgotten his weapons of
wrath, and I am glad of it, Augustus," said
little Ruth, next morning, suddenly exhibiting
a pair of pistols.

Lopré gave a quick start, and the colour rose
to his brow, as he snatched them from her.

"I marvel not that he was ashamed of them
in a house of peace, and so hid them beneath
thy reading-chair," continued the little damsel,
with some severity.

Lopré laughed, and the circumstance was
forgotten.

Frank's visit seemed to work a remarkable
change for the better in the tenant of
Tabernacle Lodge. He gained colour and flesh. His
appetite improved. He was cheerful — almost
sociable. No accents of grief were heard, as
before, issuing from his chamber. He delighted
in Ruth, and held long bantering conversations
with her — sometimes opposing her arguments
and exhortations, sometimes exhibiting tokens
of most suspiciously sudden conversion.

It was probably about three months after
Frank's visit, that the appearance of Ninian
Small — that desired yet dreaded tinker — roused
Holyton from its accustomed torpor. Having
been absent somewhat longer than usual, Nin
had his hands full, and it was not till the close of
the fourth day that he had leisure to commence
the drunken orgie that, surely as day follows
night, succeeded his intervals of labour.

It was customary with the quaker portion of
the community, so soon as it was satisfactorily
ascertained that Mr. Small was drunk, to withdraw
into their respective tabernacles or dwellings,
and make the entrances thereto as secure as
possible. But, at present, Nin was in a stage
so little advanced as to be harmless company,
and more than one Friend lingered round the spot
where Mr. Small, seated upon an inverted
bucket — which he preferred to any description
of chair hitherto in use — amused a knot of
villagers with news from London.

He had got through his political budget, and
come to subjects of a miscellaneous character,
in which what may be termed court and criminal
gossip bore a considerable share, and mightily
interested the listening circle. It must be
confessed that Mr. Small kept his imagination
under no very stern control; and when he found,
from the open mouths and eyes about him, that
he had got hold of a good thing, usually went
in for what would, in this age, be called
"sensation."

"Ses the king — God bless'n" (hats,
except those of the Friends, removed), "ses he,
'I'll niver stand it, Charlotte, d'ye mind me?
I won't. He's my godson, is George Frank.
Bein' a suvverin and a godfather, my parlyment
shall offer a 'ansum reward. Twenty Pounds.'"

"Come, that worn't extravigant, for a lord,"
growled a bystander. "But he never come
back?"

"Never more heerd on," said Ninian. "He
had spent all his fortune. But his jewels,
his nags, his picters, his —— . Well, whatever
else my lord took his pleasures in, they
was left, as if he meant to come back next day.
Five pounds was added to the reward (purwidin'
he was found murdered); and — here's the bill
—no 'tain't — I spiled it wi' a sausage — but it
was giv' out that, 'Whereas the Lord George
Francis Olliphant had disappeared, aged eighteen,
and nobody know'd what the devil had become
of him, but thought that a cruel, barbarous, and
detestable murther had been committed on his
carcase — this here reward, exetterer. GEORGE
REX.'"

The recital of this important and authentic
document justified a pause and a draught, the
former short, the latter long, after which Mr.
Small resumed:

"He had been heerd by his vally to say he were
invited to visit an old friend, which's name he
didn't mention, and which lived nowheres about.
Consequently, it was thought to be one Captain
Gullayne, a very nice gentleman indeed, but
unlucky at play, and had took, it was thought, to
the road. The captain, bein' advertised in the
Flyin' Postman, tellin' him a aunt had died at
an adwanced age, and left him a legacy,
declined to answer — and was accordingly described.
Fifty guineas reward. He was a pale, thin, — a
—pale — a th——"

The speaker's voice faltered, and became
inarticulate. His massive jaw dropped, and his
great eyes seemed glued to some object without
the circle. It was the face of Lopré, stern
and white as the moonlight, exactly fronting
him.

"Go on, my worthy friend," he said, quietly.
"The description. You have it in your pouch."

"'Tis lost — be cursed to it," said the tinker,
sullenly. But he ceased to fumble in his pocket,
and suddenly changed his subject and his
manner together. Swallowing another hasty draught,
he rose, and, with a powerful kick, sent the
bucket spinning among the shins of his audience.

"There's enough of stories!" he bellowed;
"more ale, there. Hilloo for a rouse!"

And Mr. Small, throwing his gigantic person
into an attitude that might be accepted either
as an invitation to drink or fight, gave notice
by this gesture that the moment had arrived