of his mouth, so as to show his teeth, like a dog at the beginning of a snarl. With him it was the beginning of a laugh.

"I didn't mean to affront you, young Squire," said he. "My friend here knows that I affront nobody. But now for business. There is a plot, it seems, for sending you to the Plantations, and you don't like to go. Natural enough. I have been to some of them myself, much against my will, and glad enough I was to get back, which I found a devilish hard matter, I can tell you. However, here I am; and if so be it is your wish to be comfortably out of the way for a bit, where the devil himself couldn't find you, I can provide you with such quarters. Only I must know that you are freely consenting thereto; for it would have a black look with it, if anything were to come out by-and-by, should it seem to be a kidnapping job."

"You are quite right, Mr. Kilvert,” said Andrew. "I would not be seen in the business myself if everything was not perfectly as it should be, much less ask you to have

a hand in it. But the lad is here to answer for himself. He will tell you whether he is a free agent or not."

"Ay, to be sure I am!" exclaimed Stephen. "Andrew Mayfield is the best friend I have upon earth: he knows why I do this; and I know that I do it as willingly as I now smoke this bit of clay."

66

Enough!" answered Kilvert. "But there is nothing like being regular. Just put your name to this piece of paper. It will serve to show the truth of the matter at any future time, should it be necessary."

Stephen was about to read the paper which Kilvert had laid before him. But Mayfield hastily took it up, cast his eyes over it, and said—

"It is all proper: merely a declaration that you asked my friend, Mr. Kilvert, to take you with him. After you have put your name, I shall write mine, that I may be an honest witness."

Stephen signed his name; Mayfield witnessed the signature; and Kilvert put the paper into his pocket.

"And now," said he; "I am off to-morrow morning before day-light. Can you be ready?"

This part of the business required some consideration. Mayfield and Stephen talked over several plans for getting out at that early hour without detection. At length one was agreed upon which Stephen thought he could manage; and the reader already knows he did manage it admirably. The place of meeting was next arranged, between Kilvert and Andrew, where the latter was to be ready with a good horse, and twenty guineas, for Stephen. All other matters, as to his place of destination, the time when Mayfield himself should join them, and the mode of communicating with him meanwhile, were left for Kilvert to disclose on their journey.

Stephen returned to Mr. Bosley's with a light heart and a bounding step; his mind being full of ardent anticipations of the novelties that awaited him, and of rejoicing that he had escaped being shipped off to a yellowfever island; all which he firmly believed to

be the Baronet's intention, simply because Mayfield had said so.

This belief was quite sufficient to dispel a few feeble qualms of conscience, as he reflected upon his meditated conduct towards Sir Everton; qualms which were considerably heightened by the circumstance that Mr. Bosley happened to be in an unusually moral vein that evening, descanting eloquently upon the virtues of gratitude, of obedience to parents, and especially of the duty we owe to those who discharge towards us all the good offices of a parent, without being required to do so by positive obligation.

Sir Everton was not named, indeed: but the discourse was so apposite, and Mr. Bosley's manner so simple and sincere, that our embryo run-away, all rough and daring as was his nature, would infallibly have betrayed his secret intents preparatory to renouncing them, had not the recollection of Andrew's gold-coloured friend, and the black vomit, come to his aid.

He did not go to bed that night, lest he

should oversleep himself. But when he heard the church clock strike five, he took up his bundle, crept softly down stairs, slipped the bolts of the back door, (which he had contrived to oil the preceding evening,) without disturbing either Mr. Bosley, or the wench who slept in the kitchen, and hastened to the place of rendezvous. There he found Kilvert and Andrew. The latter immediately dismounted, and Stephen sprang into his seat. Mayfield shook hands with him, gave him a leathern purse with the twenty guineas, wished him a "frolicsome journey," and then whispering a few words to Kilvert, the latter cracked his whip, and our travellers set off

at a smart trot.