o'clock--we must be quiet, you know, or people will be
talking."

'Well, Sir, we met him, sure enough, at the time and place.'

CHAPTER LXXII.

IN WHICH THE APPARITION OF MR. IRONS IS SWALLOWED IN DARKNESS.

''Twas a darkish night--very little moon--and he made us turn off the
road, into the moor--black and ugly it looked, stretching away four or
five miles, all heath and black peat, stretches of little broken
hillocks, and a pool or tarn every now and again. An' he kept looking
back towards the road, and not a word out of him. Well, I did not like
meeting him at all if I could help it, but I was in dread of him; and I
thought he might suppose I was plotting mischief if I refused. So I made
up my mind to do as he bid me for the nonce, and then have done with
him.

'By this time we were in or about a mile from the road, and we got over
a low rising ground, and back nor forward, nor no way could we see
anything but the moor; and I stopped all of a sudden, and says I, "We're
far enough, I'll go no further."

'"Good," says Mr. Archer; "but let's go yonder, where the stones are--we
can sit as we talk--for I'm tired."

'There was half-a-dozen white stones there by the side of one of these
black tarns. We none of us talked much on that walk over the moor. We
had enough to think of, each of us, I dare say.

'"This will do," says Mr. Archer, stopping beside the pool; but he did
not sit, though the stones were there. "Now, Glascock, here I am, with
the price of my horse in my pocket; what do you want?"

'Well, when it came to the point so sudden, Glascock looked a bit shy,
and hung his head, and rowled his shoulders, and shuffled his feet a
bit, thinking what he'd say.

'"Hang it, man; what are you afraid of? we're friends," says Mr. Archer,
cheerfully.

'"Surely, Sir," says Glascock, "I did not mean aught else."

'And with that Mr. Archer laughed, and says he--

'"Come--you beat about the bush--let's hear your mind."

'"Well, Sir, 'tis in my letter," says he.

'"Ah, Glascock," says he, "that's a threatening letter. I did not think
you'd serve me so. Well, needs must when the devil drives." And he
laughed again, and shrugs up his shoulders, and says he, putting his
hand in his pocket, "there's sixty pounds left; 'tis all I have; come,
be modest--what do you say?"

'"You got a lot of gold off Mr. Beauclerc," says Glascock.

'"Not a doit more than I wanted," says he, laughing again. "And who,
pray, had