e in the north when the
dog-wolf's abroad at sunup. He came by sloop this morning," he added,
taking the packet from my hands and laying it upon a table in plain
sight--the best way to conceal anything.

"How do you know?" I asked.

"A Bull's-Head drover whistled it an hour since," he said carelessly.
"That same drover and his mate desire to see you, Mr. Renault. Could
you, by chance, take the air at dusk--say on Great George Street--until
you hear a whippoorwill?"

I nodded.

"You will not fail, then, sir? This drover and his fellow go north
to-night, bearing the cross o' fire."

"I shall not fail them," I said, drawing a triple roll of guineas from
my pocket. "This money goes to the prison-ships; they are worse off
there than under Cunningham. See to it, Ennis. I shall bring more
to-morrow."

He winked; then with grimace and circumstance and many a stiff-backed
bow conducted me to the door, where I stood a moment, snuff-box in
hand, as though testing some new and most delicious brand just
purchased from the Silver Box.

There were many respectable folk abroad in Hanover Square, thronging
the foot-paths, crowding along the gay shop-windows, officers lagging
by the jeweler's show, sober gentlemen clustering about the
book-stalls, ladies returning from their shopping or the
hair-dresser's, young bucks, arm in arm, swaggering in and out of
coffee-house and tavern.

As I stood there, making pretense to take snuff, I noticed a
sedan-chair standing before Mrs. Ballin's millinery-shop, and seeing
that the bearers were Lady Coleville's men, I crossed the street.

As I came up they touched their hats, and at the same moment the
shop-door opened and out tripped, not Lady Coleville at all, but the
Hon. Elsin Grey in the freshest of flowered gowns, wearing a piquant
chip hat a la Gunning, with pink ribbons tied under her dainty chin.

"You!" she cried. "Of all men, to be caught a-raking in Hanover Square
like some mincing macaroni, peeping into strange sedan-chairs!"

"I knew it was Lady Coleville's chair," I said, laughing, yet a little
vexed, too.

"It isn't; it's Mrs. Barry's," she said. "Our chairs are all at the
varnishers. Now what excuse can you trump up?"

"The bearers are Lady Coleville's," I said. "Don't be disagreeable. I
came to walk with you."

"Expecting to meet Rosamund Barry! Thank you, Carus. And I may add that
I have seen little of you since Friday; not that I had noticed your
absence, but mee