"Foreign! Is it possible?" The stranger dived again into his pocket,
and apparently with some difficulty hunted out half-a-crown.

"Sixpence more, if you please, sir; three brandies, and bread-and-cheese
and the ale too, sir."

"How stupid I am! I thought that French coin was a five shilling piece.
I fear I have no English money about me but this half-crown; and I can't
ask you to trust me, as you don't know me."

"Oh, sir, 't is all one if you know the squire. You may be passing this
way again."

"I shall not forget my debt when I do, you may be sure," said the
stranger; and, with a nod, he walked away in the same direction as
Darrell and Lionel had already taken, through a turnstile by a public
path that, skirting the churchyard and the neighbouring parsonage, led
along a cornfield to the demesnes of Fawley.

The path was narrow, the corn rising on either side, so that two persons
could not well walk abreast. Lionel was some paces in advance, Darrell
walking slow. The stranger followed at a distance: once or twice he
quickened his pace, is if resolved to overtake Darrell; then apparently
his mind misgave him, and he again fell back.

There was something furtive and sinister about the man. Little could be
seen of his face, for he wore a large hat of foreign make, slouched deep
over his brow, and his lips and jaw were concealed by a dark and full
mustache and beard. As much of the general outline of the countenance as