the gallows. But Philip slackened
not his pace; he began to distance his pursuers. He was now in a street
which they had not yet entered--a quiet street, with few, if any, shops.
Before the threshold of a better kind of public-house, or rather tavern,
to judge by its appearance, lounged two men; and while Philip flew on,
the cry of "Stop him!" had changed as the shout passed to new voices,
into "Stop the thief!"--that cry yet howled in the distance. One of the
loungers seized him: Philip, desperate and ferocious, struck at him with
all his force; but the blow was scarcely felt by that Herculean frame.

"Pish!" said the man, scornfully; "I am no spy; if you run from justice,
I would help you to a sign-post."

Struck by the voice, Philip looked hard at the speaker. It was the voice
of the Accursed Son.

"Save me! you remember me?" said the orphan, faintly. "Ah! I think I do;
poor lad! Follow me-this way!" The stranger turned within the tavern,
passed the hall through a sort of corridor that led into a back yard
which opened upon a nest of courts or passages.

"You are safe for the present; I will take you where you can tell me all
at your ease--See!" As he spoke they emerged into an open street,
and the guide pointed to a row of hackney coaches. "Be quick--get in.
Coachman, drive fast to ---"

Philip did not hear the rest of the direction.

Our story returns to Sidney.

CHAPTER III.

"Nous vous mettrons a couvert,
Repondit le pot de fer
Si quelque matiere dure
Vous menace d'aventure,
Entre deux je passerai,
Et du coup vous sauverai.
........
Le pot de terre en souffre!"--LA FONTAINE.

["We, replied the Iron Pot, will shield you: should any hard
substance menace you with danger, I'll intervene, and save you
from the shock.
......... The Earthen Pot was the sufferer!]

"SIDNEY, come here, sir! What have you been at? you have torn your frill
into tatters! How did you do this? Come sir, no lies."

"Indeed, ma'am, it was not my fault. I just put my head out of the
window to see the coach go by, and a nail caught me here."

"Why, you little plague! you have scratched yourself--you are always in
mischief. What business had you to look after the coach?"

"I don't know," said Sidney, hanging his head ruefully. "La,
mother!" cried the youngest of the cousins, a square-built, ruddy,
coarse-featured urchin, about Sidney's age, "La, mot