ine and dry.

Unfortunately, Monday proved to be a drizzling morning, so that instead
of setting forth as I had intended before eight, I hung about the door
of the cottage, hoping the weather might improve. Towards ten o'clock,
the rain began to cease, and looking inside the back room I said
'good-bye' to Mrs. Riddles, who inquired in which direction I was going.

'To London,' I answered, and this was the first sign of curiosity she
had betrayed concerning either myself or my destination. She was a very
old woman and somewhat deaf, treating my presence entirely as a matter
of course.

However, I bade her good-bye, and was on the point of stepping from the
shop into the small front garden, when instinctively I sprang back and
shut the door.

To my horror I had seen Mr. Turton and Augustus walking along the middle
of the road, each carrying an umbrella; Mr. Turton had an anxious
expression on his pale, bearded face. As I crouched, peeping between the
bottles of sweets in the window, I saw them pass the gate and come to a
standstill. They had the manner of persons on the look-out for some one,
and it seemed impossible to doubt that the some one was myself.

I confess that I felt surprised. Why should Mr. Turton want me back at
Castlemore, unless, indeed, for the sake of taking revenge for my
flight? At least, I could conceive no other reason, and while feeling
deeply thankful for my narrow escape, I determined to spare no effort to
make this effectual. That Mr. Turton should have hit upon my precise
locality did not appear very remarkable.

These thoughts passed through my mind in far less time than it takes to
set them down on paper. I remembered that my friend on the bicycle had
said that all roads led to London, and now the idea occurred that the
best way to evade Mr. Turton and yet to attain my purpose, would be to
make a dash across to some other main road, keeping almost paralled with
my pursuers.

After appearing to hesitate in the middle of the road, only a few yards
from my hiding-place, Augustus and his father approached the door of the
opposite butcher's shop, presumably with the intention of inquiring
whether a boy of my description had been seen in the place. I regretted
now my short conversation with the grocer, who had nodded to me in a
friendly way as I came home from church on Sunday, and no doubt had seen
me enter Mrs. Riddles' cottage.

If he directed Mr. Turton thither, I was lost, unless I cou