d not have described them at all, beheld
in his mind's eye the garden of the Lodge, detailed as in a map; he went
to and fro in it, feeling his terrors; he saw the hollies, the snowy
borders, the paths where he had sought Alan, the high, conventual walls,
the shut door--what! was the door shut? Ay, truly, he had shut it--shut
in his money, his escape, his future life--shut it with these hands, and
none could now open it! He heard the snap of the spring-lock like
something bursting in his brain, and sat astonied.

And then he woke again, terror jarring through his vitals. This was no
time to be idle; he must be up and doing, he must think. Once at the end
of this ridiculous cruise, once at the Lodge door, there would be
nothing for it but to turn the cab and trundle back again. Why, then, go
so far? why add another feature of suspicion to a case already so
suggestive? why not turn at once? It was easy to say, turn, but whither?
He had nowhere now to go to; he could never--he saw it in letters of
blood--he could never pay that cab; he was saddled with that cab for
ever. O that cab! his soul yearned to be rid of it. He forgot all other
cares. He must first quit himself of this ill-smelling vehicle and of
the human beast that guided it--first do that; do that at least; do that
at once.

And just then the cab suddenly stopped, and there was his persecutor
rapping on the front glass. John let it down, and beheld the port-wine
countenance flamed with intellectual triumph.

"I ken wha ye are!" cried the husky voice. "I mind ye now. Ye're a
Nucholson. I drove ye to Hermiston to a Christmas party, and ye came
back on the box, and I let ye drive."

It was a fact. John knew the man; they had been even friends. His enemy,
he now remembered, was a fellow of great good-nature--endless
good-nature--with a boy; why not with a man? Why not appeal to his
better side? He grasped at the new hope.

"Great Scott; and so you did," he cried, as if in a transport of
delight, his voice sounding false in his own ears. "Well, if that's so,
I've something to say to you. I'll just get out, I guess. Where are we,
any way?"

The driver had fluttered his ticket in the eyes of the branch
toll-keeper, and they were now brought to on the highest and most
solitary part of the by-road. On the left, a row of field-side trees
beshaded it; on the right it was bordered by naked fallows, undulating
downhill to the Queensferry Road; in front, Corstorphine H