over
my left shoulder, and stepping out briskly soon passed the last houses
in Castlemore. Although my chief feeling was one of relief at having
left Ascot House and the Turtons behind, it was impossible to avoid a
glance back at the days which I had spent so happily with the
Windleshams. I no longer had the least doubt that Captain Knowlton had
been lost with the _Seagull_, and as I covered the first mile or two of
my long journey, I became impressed with a conviction of all the
difference his death had made to my life. Instead of Sandhurst, I could
not tell what lay before me, and yet I scarcely doubted that, whatever
it might be, the end would prove satisfactory.

I determined to lose no time over my first stage, and after walking for
three-quarters of an hour, I passed a finger-post, which conveyed the
information that Broughton lay still eight miles distant. Although I had
told myself yesterday that Mr. Turton was very unlikely to start in
pursuit, that he would be only too glad to get rid of an unremunerative
boarder, this morning seemed to make the affair look different. He might
consider that his duty compelled him to set out in search of the
runaway, so that it would be wise not to rest until the first ten miles
had been put between myself and the school.

I felt anxious to reach Broughton, in order to dispose of my watch and
chain, being already somewhat afraid that there might arise some
difficulty about its disposal. I had never attempted to sell anything
before, nor was it easy to form an opinion concerning the value of the
only things I had to barter. Still, four pounds appeared a likely sum,
or three pounds ten at the lowest, and this would surely serve to
provide food and shelter until I reached London.

Very few persons passed me by the way, but coming within sight of the
first houses of the small town, which was in reality little more than a
large village, I began to overtake and soon passed a man who I little
imagined would cross my path again. Broughton is approached by a long
decline, at the foot of which, on the right, stands a rural inn. Before
its door this morning were a couple of waggons, one laden with hay, the
other with sheep-turnips. A smock-frocked carter stood eating a chunk of
bread and fat bacon, while a fox-terrier begged for scraps. Having
walked ten miles in the hot sunshine, I was glad of any excuse to halt,
so that a few minutes after passing the man in the road, I stopped to
wa