Frank Edwards, seemed to be equally efficacious in the case of my old
friend Smith. He felt so well on being told of his host's departure,
that he was able to move at once; and, without waiting for consultation
with the doctor, or even for his carriage, he accompanied his daughter
and the indefatigable Percy Marvale across the fields to Howkey on foot.

Meanwhile the hopeful lover drew near the hamlet of Wibbelton. He drove
to the inn as the likeliest place where he could get information, and
entered the common parlour, a neat little whitewashed room, with clean
sanded floor, that looked out upon the village green. At a little table
by the window sat a gentleman reading the newspaper, and occasionally
relieving the dryness of the parliamentary debates by a sip at a little
tankard of beer. He was a neatly dressed old man, with his thin long
hair tied behind in a cue, a bright blue coat buttoned close up to the
throat, stocking-thread pantaloons, and high Hessian boots. His upright
carriage and projecting chest pointed him out at once as a military man;
and the bow he had made, on Frank entering the room, showed at once he
was a man of the old school--very formal and ceremonious--but was
indicative of good-nature at the same time.

"A stranger in Wibbelton?" he said, laying down the paper. "Ha! I
thought so--never remarked you before, though I keep my eye on any new
face that appears in our parish."

"There are not many strangers, I presume, who find their way to this
out-of-the-way village," replied Frank.

"I beg your pardon, my young friend. Many do. It is just the place for
strangers to come to. A more complete retirement is not to be found in
England."