eeler,
nor at him unless he should try to shove a writ in at some chink of the
building.

This done, he went on his travels, third-class, with his eyes always
open, and his heart full of bitterness.

Nothing happened to Richard Bassett on his travels that I need relate
until one evening when he alighted at a small commercial inn in the
city of York, and there met a person whose influence on the events I am
about to relate seems at this moment incredible to me, though it is
simple fact.

He found the commercial room empty, and rang the bell. In came the
waiter, a strapping girl, with coal-black eyes and brows to match, and
a brown skin, but glowing cheeks.

They both started at sight of each other. It was Polly Somerset.

"Why, Polly! How d'ye do? How do you come here?"

"It's along of you I'm here, young man," said Polly, and began to
whimper. She told him her sister had found out from the page she had
been colloguing with him, and had never treated her like a sister after
that. "And when she married a gentleman she wouldn't have me aside her
for all I could say, but she did pack me off into service, and here I
be."

The girl was handsome, and had a liking for him. Bassett was idle, and
time hung heavy on his hands: he stayed at the inn a fortnight, more
for Polly's company than anything: and at last offered to put her into
a vacant cottage on his own little estate of Highmore. But the girl was
shrewd, and had seen a great deal of life this last three years; she
liked Richard in her way, but she saw he was all self, and she would
not trust him. "Nay," said she, "I'll not break with Rhoda for any
young man in Britain. If I leave service she will never own me at all:
she is as hard as iron."

"Well, but you might come and take service near me, and then we could
often get a word together."

"Oh, I'm agreeable to that: you find me a good place. I like an inn
best; one sees fresh faces."

Bassett promised to manage that for her. On reaching home he found a
conciliatory letter from Wheeler, coupled with his permission to tax
the bill according to his own notion of justice. This and other letters
were in an outhouse; the old soldier had not permitted them to
penetrate the fortress. He had entered into the spirit of his
instructions, and to him a letter was a probable hand-grenade.

Bassett sent for Wheeler; the bill was reduced, and a small payment
made; the rest postponed till better times. Wheeler was then con