The blacksmith, a tall, broad-shouldered man, wearing a leather apron, stood at the door with a hammer in his right hand, his shop being a kind of barn beneath a tall elm-tree, directly opposite the narrow lane, with a board signifying that it was a footpath to Barton. It was exactly the place I should have selected in order to get away from the main road had I known of its existence.

'Has the motor-car gone?' I inquired, stopping in front of the blacksmith's.

'Don't see much sign of it, do you?' he answered, rather gruffly.

'How long ago did it start?' I asked.

'About a quarter of an hour,' said the smith, and I saw that it would be useless to think of following it in the hope of overtaking Jacintha. Perhaps it was just as well, as she had suggested that her uncle might take me forcibly back to Mr. Turton, whose eagerness to bring me once more to Castlemore still furnished matter for surprise.

But still, even if I ran some risk, I was determined to lose no time in returning the locket to its owner, who had certainly done me a good turn. My direction, which a little while ago had appeared uncertain, was now decided for me, and henceforth, instead of directing my steps towards London, I aimed at reaching Hazleton, whence the journey could be continued with greater safety from pursuit.

'Can you tell me how far it is to Hazleton?' I asked before moving on from the smithy.

'Jim,' cried the blacksmith, turning towards a man who was hammering a horse-shoe, 'here's the champion walker wants to know how far to Hazleton.'

'About thirty miles,' said Jim.

'Which is the way?' I demanded.

'Bear to your left till you come to the main road,' said the smith, 'then take the left again.'

Having thanked the man, I walked on, still looking sharply out for Mr. Turton's cab, until I came to a small village with a green, on which a few boys were playing cricket. Here there were two forked roads, and after staying five minutes to watch the game, I followed that to the left. I took the precaution to place the locket in my empty watch-pocket for greater safety, and as I left the village behind, I took out all the money in my possession—four shillings and sevenpence—and counted it, although I knew perfectly well what it amounted to. Even if the weather remained fine, which appeared extremely doubtful, I could not hope to reach Hazleton in less than two days, and then I must hang about the entrance to Colebrook Park until I succeeded in seeing Jacintha alone. As to what was to happen after that, I did not trouble myself; Hazleton had now become my fixed destination, and by securing a free bed in the open air for two nights, I reckoned it would be possible to fare well on the way.

Now that I had set my back towards Barton, I felt perfectly safe from Mr. Turton, and the road became so hilly and beautiful, with woods and undulating fields on each hand, that it soon began to engage all my attention. Villages came close together, and, indeed, the only drawback that afternoon was the lowering sky, which certainly foreboded a bad night.

At about five o'clock I passed through a kind of model village, with some quaint cottages and a few nourishing shops, in one of whose windows I saw some extremely tempting-looking small pork pies. Having eaten only bread and cheese for dinner, I was beginning to feel ravenously hungry, so, entering the shop, I inquired the price.

'Twopence each,' said the girl behind the counter, 'fresh made this morning.'

'I will have one,' I answered, when it occurred to me that if I was going to sleep out of doors, it might be wise to buy two, keeping one in reserve for supper. Then I asked for a glass of milk, and as there was a penny change out of sixpence, I bought a large cake of chocolate.

On leaving the shop, the sky looked blacker and more threatening than ever, and I wondered whether Jacintha and her uncle had arrived home yet. Eating one of the pork pies as I walked on, I followed it by half the cake of chocolate, and then the rain began, with large drops, which made me dread a thunder-storm.

After a little while the rain ceased, however, and quickening my steps, I began to think I should be driven to pay for a night's lodging after all. Presently I came to a kind of open moor, covered with bracken, bramble, and brilliant patches of heath. A rabbit scampered across the road, but there was no one to be seen, although a railway ran close at hand through a cutting on the right. I could see the tops of the signal-posts and hear the rush of passing trains now and then. When I had walked a mile or more across the moor, the rain began again with flashes of vivid lightning and long rolls of thunder. I turned up my collar and buttoned my jacket, which was soon nearly wet through, and at last stood up in the wet bracken under a beech-tree. A more vivid flash of lightning, however, reminded me that I had heard of the danger of standing beneath trees in storms; so, plunging into the deluge again, I followed the road up a steep hill, in the hope of seeing a village, or some kind of shelter, from the crest.

But the only human habitation in sight was a solitary house, which looked curious enough amidst those lonely surroundings. It stood at the corner of a cross-road still several hundred yards distant, a new-looking house, built of red bricks, with a tiled roof, with a garden and railings in front. Determined to find shelter somewhere, I set off down the hill at a run, and, as I drew near the house, rejoiced to see that it was apparently empty. By the iron railings stood a black board, announcing that it was to be let unfurnished, while the wisps of straw about the path seemed to show that the tenants had but recently forsaken it, because of its lonely situation, no doubt. Opening the gate, I went up the stone steps and stood beneath a small porch before its front door, where at least I was out of the rain, which now poured down in torrents. On each side of the small porch was a shelf, evidently intended to support flower-pots, and underneath one of the shelves I saw an old sack.

This I picked up and examined, and finding that it was not very dirty, I thought there could be no harm in taking possession of it, for if the rain continued, the sack would serve the purpose of a cape to protect my shoulders. Placing it round them at once, I stood gazing at the rain, while the evening gradually darkened. The thunder sounded as if it were exactly overhead, and the lightning seemed to dance around me. Presently I began to wonder how to pass the night, since it would be madness to leave this shelter in the deluge, while yet I could not very comfortably remain where I was.

It must have been between seven and eight o'clock when a happy thought occurred. How idiotic to feel doubtful where to sleep when here was a whole house apparently at my disposal! It could not injure anybody if I made it a shelter for myself for the night, whereas it would be an immense boon to have a roof over one's head until the rain ceased—- although it looked as if it never would leave off.

Drawing the sack over my head, I came forth from my shelter and inspected the front of the house, only to find that every window was securely fastened. Going round to the side gate of lattice-work, I found it unlocked, however, and made my way at once to the back garden. There, by great good fortune, was a window with the bottom pane broken, and having enlarged the hole, I was able to put in a hand and push back the fastener, so that to open the window and effect an entrance was the work of a few seconds.

Having shut the window, I looked about, and saw that I stood in a kind of breakfast-room, entirely empty; but on going to the adjoining kitchen, there was a heap of shavings and paper by a packing-case in one corner, and on this I determined to make a bed. The rain still pelted, the thunder rolled, and the lightning flashed, while the interior of the house seemed dismal and oppressive, I confess to a feeling of timidity which I had not experienced since I left Castlemore—such as, indeed, I had scarcely been conscious of in my life before. The evening was already dark, and the night promised to be absolutely black. When I went to the kitchen door and looked out into the stone-floored passage, I could scarcely see my hand before me, and there was no means of obtaining a light.

Returning to the kitchen, I shut the door, and, making the most of the still remaining light, I began to prepare my bed for the night, but as I turned the shavings a mouse ran over my hand, and for the moment I felt so startled that I walked to the farther side of the room.

There I began to persuade myself that there was no danger to be feared from a mouse, and presently, returning to the corner, I shook out the shavings and pieces of paper until they somewhat resembled the shape of a bed. A few minutes later, however, it seemed to become suddenly black, save when the flashes of lightning lighted the room, for, of course, the windows were without blinds. Sitting down on the bed, I determined to eat my supper and try to sleep, not caring how early I woke, so long as it was daylight. I congratulated myself on the possession of the second pork-pie and the chocolate, and lest the morning should prove as wet as the night, I only ate half of my provender, although I could very readily have dispatched the whole.

Then, having taken off my boots and spread the sack out to dry, I said my prayers and lay down at full length; but, instead of falling asleep at once, my thoughts turned to the past, and I seemed to live over again every interview I had ever had with Captain Knowlton. When I remembered his cheerful personality, it seemed impossible to realise that he could be dead, and yet by this time I had not the slightest hope of ever seeing him again. I tried to dwell on Mr. Bosanquet's encouraging words, but it was useless to-night as I lay watching the lightning; and, oppressed by grief at Captain Knowlton's loss, I could not keep back a few tears. Then I must have fallen asleep, for, I know not how much later, although the kitchen was still in total blackness, I found myself sitting up, and thinking for the moment that I was back in my room with Smythe and the other fellows at Mr. Turton's. Before I had quite realised the actual surroundings, I grew cold from head to foot, with that uncomfortable sensation called goose-flesh, as if every individual hair were standing on end. My teeth began to chatter as I strained my ears to listen.

There could be no doubt about it. I could distinctly hear a low, pitiful weeping apparently just above my head. That the sounds came from some human being in intense distress I entertained no doubt whatever, and yet, inconsistently enough, I felt frightened out of my wits. Rising, I felt my way by the empty dresser to the door, and there stood listening. Still the melancholy sound continued; such a dismal wailing as I had never heard before. How I longed for the day to break, or even for the lightning, which had now ceased, although in unison with the sounds of continuous weeping I heard the rain beating against the window-panes.

Afraid to open the door, feeling that I would gladly endure any penalty in exchange for a box of matches, I did not make the least attempt to go to sleep again, but stood close to the kitchen window on the look-out for the first sign of dawn. Never had time seemed to pass so slowly. The sounds of mice in one corner made me shudder, and for once in my life I was thoroughly and shamefully terrified.

The first shade of grey on the ceiling caused a feeling of intense relief, and I began to upbraid myself for timidity. As the light gained brightness, courage returned, and when at last it was day, although nothing could have appeared much more dismal than the outlook from the window, I determined to pull myself together and to make a tour of inspection.

(Continued on page 102.)