good woman pushed him into his bedroom and turned the key
upon him." Charles and his friends waited in vain at the inn, the
"dark gentleman" as insouciant as ever, the rest of the party greatly
perturbed. Urgently advised by Ellesdon (organizer of the escape) to
wait no longer, the party took to the Bridport road, and so in the
early morning the fugitives rode up and down the hills these pages
have just traversed, in an endeavour to find sanctuary in a ship, the
only inviolable one, that they were not to gain until far distant
Brighthelmstone was reached.

[Illustration: LYME FROM THE CHARMOUTH FOOTPATH.]

Charmouth Church is as ugly as one would expect of an erection of the
last year of the Sailor King. Within are preserved some of the
monuments from the old building. It is said that a Roman station was
established somewhere on this hill, and that after fierce fighting in
the bay the Danes captured and held the Char valley for some years. It
is possible that many of the country people have a strain of the wild
northern blood in their veins. Close to the church and the Coach and
Horses Hotel, the unpretentious but comfortable hostelry on the left
of the street, a lane leads to the coastguard station and beach.

The shore can be followed to Lyme, but only at low water. By far the
best way is to keep to the high road, passing through the cutting made
in the hill for the better passage of the coaches, and named by the
more proper "Windy Gap," and by the rest "The Devil's Bellows." In a
storm the wayfarer is likely to be blown back to Charmouth. At the top
of the hill a path turns leftwards to the open cliff and affords the
traveller the most exquisite views of Lyme, the bay and the
surrounding hills. This path eventually rejoins the main road near the
cemetery. Within is a fine Celtic cross erected to commemorate those
who perished in the _Formidable_ in 1915.

It is only during the last twenty years that Lyme has found itself as
a popular resort. It must have been a tragic business to the select
few, that opening of the light railway from Axminster in 1903. Before
that time enthusiasts, among them Whistler and several other famous
artists, braved the six miles of rough road from the nearest station
to reach the picturesque old town on the Buddle, and possibly formed
some sort of league to keep their "find" dark. Happily the place is
still unspoilt and the hand of Jerry has not descended. The visitor
who arrives by the