oked a place outside by the next day's coach, in the
name of the Reverend John Jones. I thought it desirable to be at once
unassuming and Welsh in the selection of a traveling name; and therefore
considered John Jones calculated to fit me, in my present emergency, to
a hair.

After securing a bed at the hotel, and ordering a frugal curate's dinner
(bit of fish, two chops, mashed potatoes, semolina pudding, half-pint of
sherry), I sallied out to look at the town.

Not knowing the name of it, and not daring to excite surprise by asking,
I found the place full of vague yet mysterious interest. Here I was,
somewhere in central England, just as ignorant of localities as if I had
been suddenly deposited in Central Africa. My lively fancy revelled in
the new sensation. I invented a name for the town, a code of laws
for the inhabitants, productions, antiquities, chalybeate springs,
population, statistics of crime, and so on, while I walked about the
streets, looked in at the shop-windows, and attentively examined the
Market-place and Town-hall. Experienced travelers, who have exhausted
all novelties, would do well to follow my example; they may be certain,
for one day at least, of getting some fresh ideas, and feeling a new
sensation.

On returning to dinner in the coffee-room, I found all the London papers
on the table.

The _Morning Post_ happened to lie uppermost, so I took it away to
my own seat to occupy the time, while my unpretending bit of fish was
frying. Glancing lazily at the advertisements on the first page, to
begin with, I was astonished by the appearance of the following lines,
at the top of a column:

"If F-- --K S--FTL--Y will communicate with his distressed and alarmed
relatives, Mr. and Mrs. B--TT--RB--RY, he will hear of something to
his advantage, and may be assured that all will be once more forgiven.
A--B--LLA entreats him to write."

What, in the name of all that is most mysterious, does this mean! was my
first thought after reading the advertisement. Can Lady Malkinshaw have
taken a fresh lease of that impregnable vital tenement, at the door of
which Death has been knocking vainly for so many years past? (Nothing
more likely.) Was my felonious connection with Doctor Dulcifer
suspected? (It seemed improbable.) One thing, however, was certain: I
was missed, and the Batterburys were naturally anxious about me--anxious
enough to advertise in the public papers.

I debated with myself whether