to hear the sound of a
sentence or two, and then the chink of money.

"So long, then," said Frank again. "Come along, Jack; we must make
haste."

"Good-evening, sir," cried the Major, but Jack made no answer.

* * * * *

"Frank, you don't mean to tell me that those are the people?"

"That's the Major and Gertie--yes."

"And what was all that about this evening?"

"I must go, Jack. I'm sorry; but I told you it couldn't be more than a
few days at the outside."

Jack was silent, but it was a hard struggle.

"By the way, how shall we arrange?" went on the other. "I can't take
these clothes, you know; and I can't very well be seen leaving the house
in my own."

"Do as you like," snapped Jack.

"Look here, old man, don't be stuffy. How would it do if I took a bag
and changed up in that churchyard? It's locked up after dark, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"You've got a key, I suppose?"

"Yes."

"Well, then, that's it. And I'll leave the bag and the key in the hedge
somewhere."

Jack was silent.

Jack held himself loyally in hand that evening, but he could not talk
much. He consented to explain to his mother that Frank had to be off
after dinner that night, and he also visited the housekeeper's room, and
caused a small bundle, not much larger than a leg of mutton, including
two small bottles which jingled together, to be wrapped up in brown
paper--in which he inserted also a five-pound note (he knew Frank would
not take more)--and the whole placed in the bag in which Frank's old
clothes were already concealed. For the rest of the evening he sat,
mostly silent, in one chair, trying not to watch Frank in another;
pretending to read, but endeavoring to picture to his imagination what
he himself would feel like if he were about to join the Major and Gertie
in the churchyard at nine o'clock.... Frank sat quite quiet all the
evening, reading old volumes of _Punch_.

They dined at half-past seven, by request--Frank still in his homespun
suit. Fanny and Jill were rather difficult. It seemed to them both a
most romantic thing that this black-eyed, sunburned young man, with whom
they had played garden-golf the day before, should really be continuing
his amazing walking-tour, in company with two friends, at nine o'clock
that very night. They wondered innocently why the two friends had not
been asked to join them at dinner. It was exciting, too, and unusual,
that this young man should dine in an