thought I saw my
opportunity to introduce it. "Dame Bottles," said I, "your words fit
well with the plan which has brought me here to your house. Know you,
then, that I am a nobleman--"

"Alack, poor Jemmie!" cried the woman, raising her hands.

"No," said I, "I am not a nobleman rampant. I am a nobleman in
trouble, and I need the services of your son, for which I will reward
him with such richness that he will not care if they make snuff-boxes
out of water or wind. I am in pursuit of a man--"

"The little black man," cried the alert Bottles.

"And I want your son to ride with me to catch this thief. He need
never pass through the shadow of the creeping, clanking tree. He will
be on an honest hunt to recover a great property. Give him to me. Give
him fourteen guineas from his store, and bid us mount his horses and
away. Save your son!"

The old woman burst into tears. "Sir," she answered, "I know little of
you, but, as near as I can see in the light of this one candle, you
are a hangel. Take my boy! Treat him as you would your own stepson,
and if snuff-boxes ever get better I will let you both hear of it."

Less than an hour later Jem Bottles and I were off for Bath, riding
two very good horses.

CHAPTER IV

Now my whole mind was really bent on finding my black Forister, but
yet, as Jem Bottles and I rode toward Bath, I thought of a cloaked
figure and a pair of shining eyes, and it seemed to me that I recalled
the curve of sweet, proud lips. I knew that I should be thinking of my
papers, my future; but a quick perversity made me dwell for a long
trotting time in a dream of feminine excellence, in a dream of
feminine beauty which was both ascetic and deeply sensuous. I know
hardly how to say that two eyes, a vision of lips, a conception of a
figure, should properly move me as I bounced along the road with Jem
Bottles. But it is certain that it came upon me. The eyes of the
daughter of the great Earl of Westport had put in chains the
redoubtable O'Ruddy. It was true. It was clear. I admitted it to
myself. The admission caused a number of reflections to occur in my
mind, and the chief of these was that I was a misfortunate wretch.

Jem Bottles recalled me to the immediate business.

"'Tis the lights of Bath, sir," he said, "and if it please you, sir, I
shall await you under yonder tree, since the wretched balladists have
rendered me so well known in the town that I dare not venture in it
for fear of a