ually
disguised his person; and putting in one pocket a shirt, and in the
other a few articles from his dressing-case, the Duke of St. James stole
out of Castle Dacre, leaving a note for his host, accounting for his
sudden departure by urgent business at Hauteville, and promising a
return in a day or two.

The fresh morn had fully broke. He took his hurried way through the long
dewy grass, and, crossing the Park, gained the road, which, however, was
not the high one. He had yet another hour's rapid walk, before he could
reach his point of destination; and when that was accomplished, he found
himself at a small public-house, bearing for a sign his own arms, and
situated in the high road opposite his own Park. He was confident that
his person was unknown to the host, or to any of the early idlers who
were lingering about the mail, then breakfasting.

'Any room, guard, to London?'

'Room inside, sir: just going off.'

The door was opened, and the Duke of St. James took his seat in the
Edinburgh and York Mail. He had two companions: the first, because
apparently the most important, was a hard-featured, grey-headed
gentleman, with a somewhat supercilious look, and a mingled air of
acuteness and conceit; the other was a humble-looking widow in
her weeds, middle-aged, and sad. These persons had recently roused
themselves from their nocturnal slumbers, and now, after their welcome
meal and hurried toilet, looked as fresh as birds.

'Well! now we are off,' said the gentleman. 'Very neat, cleanly little
house this, ma'am,' continued he to his companion. 'What is the sign?'
'The Hauteville Arms.' 'Oh! Hauteville; that is--that is, let me see!
the St. James family. Ah! a pretty fool that young man has made of
himself, by all accounts. Eh! sir?'

'I have reason to believe so,' said the Duke.

'I suppose this is his park, eh? Hem! going to London, sir?'

'I am.'

'Ah! hem! Hauteville Park, I suppose, this. Fine ground wasted. What the
use of parks is, I can't say.'

'The place seems well kept up,' said the widow.

'So much the worse; I wish it were in ruins.'

'Well, for my part,' continued the widow in a low voice, 'I think a park
nearly the most beautiful thing we have. Foreigners, you know, sir----'

'Ah! I know what you are going to say,' observed the gentleman in a
curt, gruffish voice. 'It is all nonsense. Foreigners are fools. Don't
talk to me of beauty; a mere word. What is the use of all this? It
produces ab