such a queer way that you loved that couple?'

'In a queer way?'

'Well, as if you hated them.'

'I don't mind your knowing that I have good reason to hate them. You do
too, it seems?'

'That man,' said Festus savagely, 'came to me one night about that very
woman; insulted me before I could put myself on my guard, and ran away
before I could come up with him and avenge myself. The woman tricks me
at every turn! I want to part 'em.'

'Then why don't you? There's a splendid opportunity. Do you see that
soldier walking along? He's a marine; he looks into the gallery of the
theatre every night: and he's in connexion with the press-gang that came
ashore just now from the frigate lying in Portland Roads. They are often
here for men.'

'Yes. Our boatmen dread 'em.'

'Well, we have only to tell him that Loveday is a seaman to be clear of
him this very night.'

'Done!' said Festus. 'Take my arm and come this way.' They walked
across to the footway. 'Fine night, sergeant.'

'It is, sir.'

'Looking for hands, I suppose?'

'It is not to be known, sir. We don't begin till half past ten.'

'It is a pity you don't begin now. I could show 'ee excellent game.'

'What, that little nest of fellows at the "Old Rooms" in Cove Row? I
have just heard of 'em.'

'No--come here.' Festus, with Miss Johnson on his arm, led the sergeant
quickly along the parade, and by the time they reached the Narrows the
lovers, who walked but slowly, were visible in front of them. 'There's
your man,' he said.

'That buck in pantaloons and half-boots--a looking like a squire?'

'Twelve months ago he was mate of the brig Pewit; but his father has made
money, and keeps him at home.'

'Faith, now you tell of it, there's a hint of sea legs about him. What's
the young beau's name?'

'Don't tell!' whispered Matilda, impulsively clutching Festus's arm.

But Festus had already said, 'Robert Loveday, son of the miller at
Overcombe. You may find several likely fellows in that neighbourhood.'

The marine said that he would bear it in mind, and they left him.

'I wish you had not told,' said Matilda tearfully. 'She's the worst!'

'Dash my eyes now; listen to that! Why, you chicken-hearted old stager,
you was as well agreed as I. Come now; hasn't he used you badly?'

Matilda's acrimony returned. 'I was down on my luck, or he wouldn't have
had the chance!' she said.

'Well, then, let things be.'

XXXI. MIDNIGHT VISI