t of an inn in Essex catching her daughter's eye, it was
decided that instant inspection should be made.

They travelled down from Fenchurch Street, accompanied by Dick and Mrs.
Tipping, the skipper, who was painfully on the alert for any chance of
escape, making a great fuss of his foot, and confessing to a feeling
of unusual indisposition. He sat in one corner of the carriage with his
eyes half closed, while Miss Tipping, with her arm affectionately drawn
through his, was the unconscious means of preventing a dash for liberty
as the train steamed slowly through a station.

The nearest station to the Rose of Essex was five miles distant, a fact
which (owing perhaps to the expensive nature of newspaper charges) did
not appear in the advertisement.

"It's a nice little place," said the landlady of the Railway Hotel, as
they asked her opinion over lunch; "there's a little land goes with it.
If you want to drive over, I'd better be having something got ready."

Mrs. Tipping, who halved the duties with Flower, she doing the ordering
and he the paying, assented, and in a short time they were bowling
rapidly along through narrow country lanes to their destination. The
skipper noticed with pleasure the lonely nature of the country, and his
heart beat fast as he thought of the chances of success of a little plan
of escape.

So far as appearance went, the inn was excellent. Roses clustered round
the porch and hung in fragrant bunches from the walls, while three
or four sturdy lime trees in one corner threw a grateful shade over a
rustic table and settles. Flower, with a grateful sigh, said that it was
the very thing. Even Mrs. Tipping, after a careful inspection, said that
they might do worse; Dick, with an air of professional gravity, devoted
most of his attention to the cellar, while the engaged couple walked
slowly round the immense garden in the rear exchanging tender whispers.

"We'll think it over and let you know," said Mrs. Tipping to the
landlord.

"There's been a lot after it," said he slowly, with a glance at his
wife.

"And yet it ain't gone," said the business-like Mrs. Tipping,
pleasantly.

"I'm going to take it, mar," said Miss Tipping, firmly.

Mrs. Tipping sighed at her haste, but finding her determined, went down
the cellar again, accompanied by Dick, for a last look round. Captain
Flower, leaning heavily on Miss Tipping's arm, limped slowly to the
carriage.

"Tired?" she enquired, tenderly, as he