occupied in gazing with head and shoulders out of the railway carriage on the surrounding scenery. So little, however, did my eyes or my brain take in what was before me, that I could not on my oath have stated whether we passed through a wilderness, green fields, towns, or the sea. At length I was told to look round. I did. Where could the lady have gone? Before me sat a tearfully-laughing very juvenile middy—costume quite correct—hair short—cap jauntily set on the head. A mass of curls lay in the fair boy’s lap.
“Thank you, sir,” she said. “You will never fully know what a kindness you have rendered me, and probably we shall never meet again. For your name I will not ask, but if you will give me anything belonging to you to remind me of this hour, I shall be obliged.”
I pulled out a small shilling likeness of myself destined for a young nephew of mine, and a lock of my hair, which was wrapped up with it. Without opening the parcel, I said, “Madam, that may serve to remind you hereafter of what certainly has been the strangest chapter in my hitherto not unvaried life.”
She put the parcel in her waistcoat pocket, took a pearl ring off her finger and gave it to me, with a tress of her hair, saying, “Keep that, then, to recal to-day. In ten minutes we shall part for ever.”
For a time both of us were silent. At last I said, “Madam, if you think that, alone as you are, and probably unaccustomed to London, you can escape the detectives at the station, you are mistaken. I could tell at a glance (to borrow a phrase from your profession) that you were sailing under false colours.”
“Indeed,” said she, somewhat startled; “well, if you will extend your kindness to seeing me clear of the station, I shall be still more than ever your debtor for life.”
“Then there is no time to be lost, the train is slackening speed. Put both your delicate hands at once deep into the pockets of your monkey-jacket—they are not like those of a sailor. Lean back in a careless way; and wait, let me dirty your boots by treading on them. Now put one foot on the seat opposite to you; never mind the clean cushion; throw the other leg negligently over the arm by your side. Don’t dream of speaking; I will talk, if necessary. Whistle, if you can, when we stop. Give me your ticket.”
It was marked from Dover to London. Capital, thought I; wonder how she got it. Mine was a season-ticket.
“Tickets, sir, please.”
I handed both. The middy whistled. The guard and policeman actually looked under the carriage-seats. A long time the train was delayed before it moved into the station. At length it did.
“Now, follow me,” I said, “roll in your walk, if you can, mind you keep your hands in your pockets.”
“Cab, sir?”
“Yes, now then, in with you, Jack.”
“Where to, sir?”
“Hyde Park Corner.” I thought I would name a distant place to give my friend breathing time. We moved forward a few paces, and then stopped.
“Now then, Cabby,” said I. “What is the matter?”
“Why, sir, blowed if there ain’t them perlice at the station gate, hexamining of every cab, and the parties hinside on ’em, and they be doing the same to those who be walking.”
My companion turned deadly pale. I pulled out a flask of neat brandy. “Drink two mouthfuls,—down with it, gulp it down,—anything to give you colour.”
At the same time I took out two cigars, lighted them, pushed one into my friend’s mouth.
“Smoke,” said I, “as hard as you can, your safety depends on it.”
Two detectives looked in at the window. “Where from, sir?”
I blew a volume of smoke into the man’s face, which caused him to rub his eyes and cough. (The middy was puffing literally like blazes).
“Where from?” replied I. ‘‘Why from Dover: what on earth do you want?”
Another discharge of smoke settled the matter.
“All right, sir, beg pardon.”
I gave him a parting volley of smoke.
“Drive on cabman with the gentleman.”
In another minute, after continuing from sheer habit to produce a hazy atmosphere, I looked round. The middy had fainted. No time yet for thinking, but acting. I used my flask again, then a vigorous pinch. By-and-bye the young gentleman came round.
“Well, now you are safe, at least from detection and pursuit, at any rate, for the present; where shall I tell the man to drive to?”
“I don’t know; I wish you would tell me where I can go for two or three days, till I am able to mature my plans.”
“Indeed, I cannot.”
“Can you not recommend me to some safe, respectable woman who will not betray me, even though a large reward be offered.”
I shook my head.
“Then, surely, you have some lady relations, or lady acquaintances in London, who will take pity on me, or (I had told her I was a barrister), you could conceal me till the end of the week in your chambers in the Temple.”
“With regard to the last, you know not what you ask,” I said. “Even if I were to give you the key of my chambers, and go into the country, not returning till you had left London, it certainly would come out some day, and then in the eyes of a censorious, wicked world, who judge others by themselves, your character would be irretrievably blasted and ruined, and mine not much improved, though that is of little consequence as I am a man, and society, thank Goodness, judges us very leniently, and yet it might be awkward, as I am engaged to be married. With regard to my lady acquaintances, I know many who would take pity on you, as you wish, if you would disclose all the facts of the case, but”
“Oh! I cannot, will not, do that; I would die sooner. Do, do help me in my distress.”
“Indeed, I do not see what is to be done.”
I looked out of the little back window of the cab, stealthily. “Wait a bit,” I said, “here is a fresh difficulty, listen to me speaking to the driver,