g at last to
feel that Nemesis was a little overdoing it.

Dick gulped down something, and walked on in silence.

"Where are you going? What's the use of going on?"

"May as well," said Dick, striding on. "It's bound to lead somewhere."

In which comfortable conviction they accomplished another half-mile.

Then to their satisfaction, and somewhat to Dick's self-satisfaction,
they heard a low noise ahead, which they knew must be the sea.

"I thought it would bring us out," said Dick. "When once we get at the
sea, we can't help finding Templeton."

"Unless we take a wrong turn to start with, and then we shall have to
walk all round England before we turn up."

"Shut up, Georgie, we've had foolery enough for one night."

Heathcote collapsed, and another mile brought the two wanderers to the
sea.

Luckily for them, the rising moon came to their rescue in deciding
whereabouts they were.

"Not far out," said Dick, "there's the Sprit Rock; two miles more will
do it."

"I shan't be sorry when I'm in bed," said Heathcote.

"I shan't be sorry when I see Tom White hung. I say, we may as well
have a dip before we go on."

So they solaced themselves with a plunge in the moonlit sea, which,
after their dusty labours, was wonderfully refreshing. Having dressed
again, all but their shoes and stockings, which they looped together and
hung over their shoulders, they tucked up their trousers, and started to
wade along the strand to their journey's end.

The tide had only just started to come in, so they had the benefit of
the hard sand, which, combined with the soft, refreshing water and the
bright moonlight, rendered their pilgrimage as pleasant as, under the
circumstances, they could have desired. Their talk was of Thomas White,
for whom it was well he was not within earshot. They arrested him,
tried him, sentenced him, flogged him, transported him, and yet were not
satisfied.

"You know, Georgie," said Dick, working himself into a fury, "he
collared my mother's photograph! the low cad! I'd be a beast if I
didn't pay him out."

"Rather! and I'll back you up, old man. I was going to get a tennis-bat
with that twelve bob; the blackguard!"

About a mile from home the lights of Templeton hove in sight; but still
our heroes' talk was of Tom White and the next assizes.

They had the beach to themselves, with only a few stranded boats for
company, over whose anchors they had to pick their way gingerly.

"The