rning, and once more
issued forth upon the high-road to look out for Classon. The setting sun
sent a long golden stream of light down the road, on which not a living
thing was to be seen. Muttering what were scarcely blessings on the head
of his messenger, he strolled listlessly along. Few men could calculate
the eventualities of life better or quicker than Davis. Give him the man
and the opportunities, and he would speedily tell you what would be the
upshot. He knew thoroughly well how far experience and temperament mould
the daring spirit, and how the caution that comes of education tames
down the wild influences suggested by temptation.

"No," said he to himself, "though he had my passport and three Napoleons
besides, he has not levanted. He is far too deep a fellow for that."

At last a low rumbling sound came up from the distance; he stopped
and listened. It came and went at intervals, till, at last, he could
distinctly mark the noise of wheels, and the voice of a man urging on
his horse. Davis quickened his pace, till, in the gray half-light, he
descried a little one-horse carriage slowly advancing towards him. He
could only see one man in it; but as it came nearer, he saw a heap of
clothes, surmounted by what indicated the presence of another in the
bottom of the conveyance, and Grog quickly read the incident by the aid
of his own anticipation. There, indeed, lay Paul Classon, forgetful of
the world and all its cares, his outstretched arm almost touching the
wheel, and the heavy wooden shoe of the peasant grazing his face.

[Illustration: 080]

"Has he got the letters? Where are they?" cried Davis, eagerly, to the
driver.

"They're in his hat"

Grog snatched it rudely from his head, and found several letters of
various sizes and shapes, and with what, even in that dim light, seemed
a variety of addresses and superscriptions.

"Are you certain none have fallen out or been lost on the road?" said
Davis, as he reckoned them over.

"That I am," said the man; "for at every jolt of the wagon he used to
grip his hat and hold it fast, as if it was for very life, till we
came to the last village. It was there he finished off with a flask of
Laubthaler that completely overcame him."

"So, then, he was sober on leaving Neuwied?"

"He was in the so-called 'bemuzzed' state!" said the man, with a
half-apologetic air.

"Take him down to the inn; throw him into the hay-yard--or the river, if
you like," said Davis,