"Treason," "Seditious Meetings," and so on;
and offering five hundred pounds reward for
the apprehension of this person, and two
hundred pounds for the capture of that.

"Jolly times, these!" Mr. Nobble said,
quite boldly. The gentleman turned his
head quickly round from his broadside
studies, and confronted Mr. Nobble with a
look of surprise; but was still silent. He
knew well enough that, with habeas corpus
suspended; with imprisonment, without cause
assigned or regular commitment or even
the pretence of trial, pretty frequent, and
with a noisome cloud of spies permeating
all the stormy and starving parts of
the country, any freeborn Englishman who
was not gifted with an independent five
hundred a-year (as Sidney Smith observed)
had to be very cautious what sort of politics
he talked to a stranger. Perhaps Mr. Nobble
had five hundred a year: his new blue coat
and gilt buttons, his top-boots, his thorough-
bred hunter, and his unstinted denunciations
of the government when the two had mounted
and were trotting out of the town together
(there was no shaking him off) would have
confirmed that idea, but for a certain
familiarity and swagger which Mr. Nobble
was unable, although he tried, to suppress.

His topic, dangerous enough, was evidently
a congenial one to his companion; who,
although the drizzle fell thickly, slackened rein
to continue the conversation. But, by the time
he had buttoned up his white top coat, and
tucked in the tassels of his hessian boots,
he had thought better of it; and, having got
clear of the crowds of factory girls who
were picking their muddy way home to tea,
he broke forward into a canter with a curt
"good afternoon," and was soon beyond the
sound of the politician's voice, and of the
clicking of pattens.

Mr. Nobble gave him his own way as far
as Eastwood, over Cinder Hill and Moorgreen
to Selstone; but there he overtook him. Even
then, attempts at conversation failed; and he
was too civil to persevere. Another Good
Evening; another canter; and, at about
three miles further on, the black mare was
pulled up at a cross corner, and a young
groom appeared from under a hedge, with
a dry dark coat and a grey horse. His
master changed both in no time; for,
he did not wish to be observed, and hail
passed several stragglers. While thus
employed, he asked his servant what orders he
had received from his mistress?

"I'm to ride Black Nan into Darby, and
put her up at the King's Head; then take the
mail for London,'' was the answer.

"Well?"

"When I get to London, I'm to make the
best of my way to Chalcot Cottage, close to
Hampstead,and tell the landlady that you and
my mistress are to be there on Thursday.
And on Thursday I'm to be at the Peacock
at Islington with a fly to meet you."

"Right. But my plans are changed. You
must go back to Corner Cottage as fast as
the mare will carry you (ride her carefully
for she's tired), and tell your mistress that I
shall not be with her for some hours later
than I expected. You can then catch the
Sheffield coach, go to London by it, and do
all you were at first ordered to do."

The youth had, during the colloquy, testified
his joy at again seeing his master, by
tapping his forefinger very rapidly against
the rim of his hat.

The master galloped away (his man trotting
gently down the cross lane); and, several
minutes before Mr. Nobble unsuspiciously
passed the tryst, the gentleman had drawn
bit at the door of the Fox at Alfreton.

"Won't you get off, sir," inquired the landlord,
"and tak a fettle o soommut warm?
You're main wet."

"Thank you—no. Have you seen a groom
pass this way lately, towards the Smithy
Houses?" He wished to ascertain whether
his servant had been hanging about
needlessly.

The landlord, not best pleased at the
traveller's haste, answered that he had seen a
sight o' stragglers pass towards the Smithy
Houses that day; but couldn't tell which
on um was grooms, and which on um wasn't.
The gentleman said no more, but rode
leisurely off.

In a few minutes the other horseman
approached, and the landlord stepped into the
road ready to hold his bridle. But he trotted
by also; and without asking one word about
the Chesterfield mail—up or down.

"Oi wonder what's oop, doon by
Pentridge and the Smithy Houses to night, lass?
—some devilment of the Captain's, it's
loikely," he said to his wife when he returned
in-doors, " There was foot stragglers in the
road all t'morn, and now, i' t' even, they're
cooming a horseback." The wife was sure
Mr. Flip would tell them all about it when
he drove up the mail in a few minutes: "that
is, if he isn't in a mortal hurry to get to the
Nottin'am Royal George," she added,
beginning to warm the ale for Mr. Flip's purl.

"Ah," rejoined the goodman, " Widow
Tuckey maun do worse than tak him."

Meanwhile, when the old grey had put a
couple of miles behind him, his rider heard
that he was being overtaken once more; and,
looking back, saw his old companion cantering
his capital hunter a-pace.

"A grey horse and a dark coat!" ejaculated
Mr. Nobble to himself as he came up.
"Curse my luck! I've lost the trail of him.
Yet," and he brightened up, "he may have
changed coats and horses at the Fox." To
solve his doubts, he brought his own horse's
nose, for the third time, in a line with that of
the stranger's, and one glance put him in
spirits. " By George!" he exclaimed, "how
delighted I am to see you again—de-lighted!"
But the gentleman, whose handsome features