r,
"but she didn't know nowt o' t'other place." He took the lane,
however, and without much difficulty made his way to the Bald-faced
Stag,--which, in the days of the glory of that branch of the Western
Road, used to supply beer to at least a dozen coaches a-day, but
which now, alas! could slake no drowth but that of the rural
aborigines. At the Bald-faced Stag, however, he found that he could
get a feed of corn, and here he put up his horse,--and saw the corn
eaten.

Pycroft Common was a mile from him, and to Pycroft Common he walked.
He took the road towards Marlborough for half a mile, and then broke
off across the open ground to the left. There was no difficulty in
finding this place, and now it was his object to discover the cottage
of Mrs. Burrows without asking the neighbours for her by name. He had
obtained a certain amount of information, and thought that he could
act on it. He walked on to the middle of the common, and looked for
his points of bearing. There was the beer-house, and there was the
lane that led away to Pewsey, and there were the two brick cottages
standing together. Mrs. Burrows lived in the little white cottage
just behind. He walked straight up to the door, between the
sunflowers and the rose-bush, and, pausing for a few moments to think
whether or no he would enter the cottage unannounced, knocked at the
door. A policeman would have entered without doing so,--and so would
a poacher knock over a hare on its form; but whatever creature a
gentleman or a sportsman be hunting, he will always give it a chance.
He rapped, and immediately heard that there were sounds within. He
rapped again, and in about a minute was told to enter. Then he opened
the door, and found but one person within. It was a young woman, and
he stood for a moment looking at her before he spoke.

"Carry Brattle," he said, "I am glad that I have found you."

"Laws, Mr. Fenwick!"

"Carry, I am so glad to see you;"--and then he put out his hand to
her.

"Oh, Mr. Fenwick, I ain't fit for the likes of you to touch," she
said. But as his hand was still stretched out she put her own into
it, and he held it in his grasp for a few seconds. She was a poor,
sickly-looking thing now, but there were the remains of great beauty
in the face,--or rather, the presence of beauty, but of beauty
obscured by flushes of riotous living and periods of want, by
ill-health, harsh usage, and, worst of all, by the sharp agonies of
an intermittent c