chicken-broth and sip your Amontillado sherry. The moment I want
money, I will write to Mr. Batterbury, and cut another little golden
slice out of that possible three-thousand-pound-cake, for which he has
already suffered and sacrificed so much. In the meantime, O venerable
protectress of the wandering Rogue! let me gratefully drink your health
in the nastiest and smallest half-pint of sherry this palate ever
tasted, or these eyes ever beheld!

I went to bed that night in great spirits. My luck seemed to be
returning to me; and I began to feel more than hopeful of really
discovering my beloved Alicia at Crickgelly, under the alias of Miss
Giles.

The next morning the Rev. John Jones descended to breakfast so rosy,
bland, and smiling, that the chambermaids simpered as he tripped by
them in the passage, and the landlady bowed graciously as he passed
her parlor door. The coach drove up, and the reverend gentleman (after
waiting characteristically for the woman's ladder) mounted to his place
on the roof, behind the coachman. One man sat there who had got up
before him--and who should that man be, but the chief of the Bow Street
runners, who had rashly tried to take Doctor Dulcifer into custody!

There could not be the least doubt of his identity; I should have known
his face again among a hundred. He looked at me as I took my place by
his side, with one sharp searching glance--then turned his head away
toward the road. Knowing that he had never set eyes on my face (thanks
to the convenient peephole at the red-brick house), I thought my meeting
with him was likely to be rather advantageous than otherwise. I had now
an opportunity of watching the proceedings of one of our pursuers, at
any rate--and surely this was something gained.

"Fine morning, sir," I said politely.

"Yes," he replied in the gruffest of monosyllables.

I was not offended: I could make allowance for the feelings of a man who
had been locked up by his own prisoner.

"Very fine morning, indeed," I repeated, soothingly and cheerfully.

The runner only grunted this time. Well, well! we all have our little
infirmities. I don't think the worse of the man now, for having been
rude to me, that morning, on the top of the Shrewsbury coach.

The next passenger who got up and placed himself by my side was a
florid, excitable, confused-looking gentleman, excessively talkative
and familiar. He was followed by a sulky agricultural youth in
top-boots--and then,