a dreadful silence.
Mr. Whitmore leaned forward and touched my knee; and I met his eye.

The face I looked into was thin and refined; clean-shaven and a
trifle pale as if with the habit of study. A slight baldness by the
temples gave the brow unusual height. His eyes I did not like at
all: instead of soothing the terror in mine they seemed to be
drinking it in and tasting it and calculating.

"I passed by the Barbican just now," said he; "and heard some
inquiries about a small chimney-sweep."

He paused, as if waiting. But I had no speech in me.

"It was a very strange story they were telling--a very dreadful and
strange story: still when I came upon you I saw, of course, it was
incredible. Boys of your size"--he hesitated and left the sentence
unfinished. "Still, you may have seen something--hey?"

Again I could not answer.

"At any rate," he went on, "I gave you the benefit of the doubt and
resolved to warn you. It was a mistake to run away: but the
mischief's done. How were you proposing to make off?"

"You--you won't give me up, sir?"

"No, for I think you must be innocent--of what they told me, at
least. I feel so certain of it that, as you see, my conscience
allows me to warn you. In the first place, avoid the Torpoint Ferry.
It will without doubt be watched. I should make for the docks, hide
until night, and try to stow myself on shipboard. Secondly"--he put
out a hand and softly unfastened the coach door--"I am going to leave
you. Our friend Mr. Jope is engaged, I see, in an altercation with
the toll-keeper. He seems a good-natured fellow. The driver
(it may help you to know) is drunk. Of course, if by ill-luck they
trace me out, to question me, I shall be obliged to tell what I know.
It amounts to very little: still--I have no wish to tell it.
One word more: get a wash as soon as you can, and by some means
acquire a clean suit of clothes. I may be then unable to swear to
you: may be able to say that your face is as unfamiliar to me as it
was--or as mine was to you--when Mr. Jope introduced us. Eh?"
His look was piercing.

"Thank you, sir."

He picked up his valise, nodded, and after a swift glance up the
street and around at the driver, to make sure that his head was
turned, stepped briskly out upon the pavement and disappeared around
the back of the coach.

CHAPTER IX.

SALTASH FERRY.

Apparently the hackney coachman was accustomed to difficulties with
the toll-gate; f