about him in voice, look, and manner. Sarah's
heart smote her as she saw how sadly he was
altered by the prospect of their parting. She
said a few words of consolation and hope;
but he only waved his hand negatively, in his
quaint foreign manner, and hastened out of
the room to find the landlord and ask for the
bill.

Soon after breakfast, to the surprise of the
people at the inn, they set forth to continue
their journey on foot, Uncle Joseph carrying
his knapsack on his back, and his niece's
carpet-bag in his hand. When they arrived
at the turning that led into the cross-road,
they both stopped and looked back. This
time, they saw nothing to alarm them. There
was no living creature visible on the broad
highway over which they had been walking
for the last quarter of an hour, after leaving
the inn.

"The way is clear," said Uncle Joseph, as
they turned into the cross-road. "Whatever
might have happened yesterday, there is
nobody following us now."

"Nobody that we can see," answered Sarah.
"But I distrust the very stones by the roadside.
Let us look back often, uncle, before
we allow ourselves to feel secure. The more
I think of it, the more I dread the snare
that is laid for us by those people at Porthgenna
Tower."

"You say us, Sarah. Why should they lay
a snare for me?"

"Because they have seen you in my company.
You will be safer from them when we
are parted; and that is another reason, Uncle
Joseph, why we should bear the misfortune of
our separation as patiently as we can.

"Are you going far, very far away, Sarah,
when you leave me?"

"I dare not stop on my journey till I can feel
that I am lost in the great world of London.
Don't look at me so sadly! I shall never
forget my promise; I shall never forget to
write. I have friends—not friends like you,
but still friends—to whom I can go. I can
feel safe from discovery nowhere but in
London. My danger is great—it is, it is,
indeed! I know, from what I have seen at
Porthgenna, that Mrs. Frankland has an
interest already in finding me out; and I am
certain that this interest will be increased
tenfold when she hears (as she is sure to
hear) of what happened yesterday in the
house. If they should trace you to Truro,
O, be careful, uncle! be careful how you
deal with them; be careful how you answer
their questions!"

"I will answer nothing, my child. But
tell me—for I want to know all the little
chances that there are of your coming back—
tell me, if Mrs. Frankland finds the letter,
what shall you do then?"

At that question Sarah's hand, which had
been resting languidly on her uncle's arm
while they walked together, closed on it
suddenly. "Even if Mrs. Frankland gets into
the Myrtle Room," she said, stopping and
looking affrightedly about her while she
replied, "she may not find the letter. It is
folded up so small; it is hidden in such an
unlikely place."

"But if she does find it?"

"If she does, there will be more reason
than ever for my being miles and miles
away." As she gave that answer, she
raised both her hands to her heart, and
pressed them firmly over it. A slight
distortion passed rapidly across her features;
her eyes closed; her face flushed all over—
then turned paler again than ever. She
drew out her pocket-handkerchief, and
passed it several times over her face, on
which the perspiration had gathered thickly.
The old man, who had looked behind him
when his niece stopped, under the impression
that she had just seen somebody following
them, observed this latter action, and asked
if she felt too hot. She shook her head, and
took his arm again to go on, breathing, as he
fancied, with some difficulty. He proposed
that they should sit down by the roadside
and rest a little; but she only answered,
"Not yet." So they went on for another
half hour; then turned to look behind them
again, and, still seeing nobody, sat down for a
little while to rest on a bank by the wayside.

After stopping twice more at convenient
resting-places, they reached the end of the
cross-road. On the highway to which it led
them, they were overtaken by a man driving
an empty cart, who offered to give them a
lift as far as the next town. They accepted
the proposal gratefully; and, arriving at
the town, after a drive of half an hour, were
set down at the door of the principal inn.
Finding on enquiry at this place that they
were too late for the coach, they took a
private conveyance, which brought them to
Truro late in the afternoon. Throughout the
whole of the journey, from the time when
they left the post-town of Porthgenna to the
time when they stopped, by Sarah's desire,
at the coach-office in Truro, they had seen
nothing to excite the smallest suspicion that
their movements were being observed. None
of the people whom they saw in the inhabited
places or whom they passed on the road,
appeared to take more than the most casual
notice of them.

It was five o'clock when they entered the
office at Truro to ask about conveyances
running in the direction of Exeter. They
were informed that a coach would start in an
hour's time, and that another coach would
pass through Truro at eight o'clock the next
morning.

You will not go to-night?" pleaded Uncle
Joseph. "You will wait, my child, and rest
with me till to-morrow?"

"I had better go, uncle, while I have some
little resolution left," was the sad answer.

"But you are so pale, so tired, so weak."

"I shall never be stronger than I am now.