vil!" thought I: "is the rascal
going to follow me?"

I was scarce clear of the inn before the limb of the law was at my
heels. I saw his face plain in the moonlight; and the most resolute
purpose showed in it, along with an unmoved composure. A chill went over
me. "This is no common adventure," thinks I to myself. "You have got
hold of a man of character, St. Ives! A bite-hard, a bull-dog, a weasel
is on your trail; and how are you to throw him off?" Who was he? By some
of his expressions I judged he was a hanger-on of courts. But in what
character had he followed the assizes? As a simple spectator, as a
lawyer's clerk, as a criminal himself, or--last and worst
supposition--as a Bow Street "runner"?

The cart would wait for me, perhaps half a mile down our onward road,
which I was already following. And I told myself that in a few minutes'
walking, Bow Street runner or not, I should have him at my mercy. And
then reflection came to me in time. Of all things, one was out of the
question. Upon no account must this obtrusive fellow see the cart. Until
I had killed or shook him off, I was quite divorced from my
companions--alone, in the midst of England, on a frosty by-way leading
whither I knew not, with a sleuth-hound at my heels, and never a friend
but the holly-stick!

We came at the same time to a crossing of lanes. The branch to the left
was overhung with trees, deeply sunken and dark. Not a ray of moonlight
penetrated its recesses; and I took it at a venture. The wretch followed
my example in silence; and for some time we crunched together over
frozen pools without a word. Then he found his voice, with a chuckle.

"This is not the way to Mr. Merton's," said he.

"No?" said I. "It is mine, however."

"And therefore mine," said he.

Again we fell silent; and we may thus have covered half a mile before
the lane, taking a sudden turn, brought us forth again into the
moonshine. With his hooded greatcoat on his back, his valise in his
hand, his black wig adjusted, and footing it on the ice with a sort of
sober doggedness of manner, my enemy was changed almost beyond
recognition: changed in everything but a certain dry, polemical,
pedantic air, that spoke of a sedentary occupation and high stools. I
observed, too, that his valise was heavy; and, putting this and that
together, hit upon a plan.

"A seasonable night, sir," said I. "What do you say to a bit of running?
The frost has me by the toes."

"With all the