rs. It has come now to me. From the world at large I am
prepared, if possible, to keep my secret, even though I do it by
lying;--but to this one man I am driven to tell it, because I may not
return his friendship by doing him an evil."

Morning school at this time of the year at Bowick began at half-past
seven. There was an hour of school before breakfast, at which the Doctor
did not himself put in an appearance. He was wont to tell the boys that
he had done all that when he was young, and that now in his old age it
suited him best to have his breakfast before he began the work of the day.
Mr. Peacocke, of course, attended the morning school. Indeed, as the
matutinal performances were altogether classical, it was impossible that
much should be done without him. On this Saturday morning, however, he
was not present; and a few minutes after the proper time, the mathematical
master took his place. "I saw him coming across out of his own door,"
little Jack Talbot said to the younger of the two Clifford boys, "and
there was a man coming up from the gate who met him."

"What sort of a man?" asked Clifford.

"He was a rummy-looking fellow, with a great beard, and a queer kind of
coat. I never saw any one like him before."

"And where did they go?"

"They stood talking for a minute or two just before the front door, and
then Mr. Peacocke took him into the house. I heard him tell Carstairs to
go through and send word up to the Doctor that he wouldn't be in school
this morning."

It had all happened just as young Talbot had said. A very "rummy-looking
fellow" had at that early hour been driven over from Broughton to Bowick,
and had caught Mr. Peacocke just as he was going into the school. He was
a man with a beard, loose, flowing on both sides, as though he were winged
like a bird,--a beard that had been black, but was now streaked through
and through with grey hairs. The man had a coat with frogged buttons that
must have been intended to have a military air when it was new, but which
was now much the worse for wear. The coat was so odd as to have caught
young Talbot's attention at once. And the man's hat was old and seedy.
But there was a look about him as though he were by no means ashamed
either of himself or of his present purpose. "He came in a gig," said
Talbot to his friend; "for I saw the horse standing at the gate, and the
man sitting in the gig."

"You remember me, no doubt," the stranger said, whe