ring glow of the summer light had faded from the sky, and the
lights of York behind him were lost in the night. A field of new-mown
hay provided him with the most luxurious bedroom man could desire.

The thought uppermost in his mind when he awoke next morning was young
Forrester. He felt that it would be useless for him to attempt anything
or hope for anything till he had ascertained whatever was to be known
respecting the boy's fate. Trimble's words, which rang in his ears, had
a less positive sound about them. At least he would find out for
himself whether they were true or false.

Grangerham, the small country town in which he had ascertained Forrester
lived, and to which he had been removed from Bolsover, was far enough
away from York. Jeffreys had many a time sought it out on the map, and
speculated on how it was to be reached, should a summons arrive to call
him thither. It was seventy miles away as the crow flies. Jeffreys had
the way there by heart. He knew what time the trains left York, what
were the junctions along the line, and how far the nearest railway
station would take him to his journey's end.

Now, however, it was a question of walking, not riding. The two pounds
in his pocket, all he possessed, scarcely seemed his at all as long as
Mr Frampton's school bill was unsettled. At any rate, it was too
precious to squander in railway fares for a man who could walk for
nothing.

It was a long, harassing journey, over moors and along stony roads. It
was not till the evening of the second day that the footsore traveller
read on a sign-post the welcome words, "Four miles to Grangerham." He
had eaten little and rested little on the way, and during the last
twelve hours a broiling sun had beaten down pitilessly upon him.

If the journey of the two last days had been exhausting, the fruitless
search of the day that followed was fully as wearisome. Grangerham was
a pretty big manufacturing town, and Jeffreys' heart sank within him as
soon as he entered it. For who among these busy crowds would be likely
to know anything of an invalid old lady and her cripple grandson?

In vain he enquired in street after street for Mrs Forrester's address.
Some had not heard the name. Some knew a public-house kept by one Tony
Forrester. Some recollected an old lady who used to keep a
costermonger's stall and had a baby with fits. Others, still more
tantalising, began by knowing all about it, and ended by show