"At Ouzelford, which I and the Faithful left this morning."

"And what was he doing?" said Losely, with well-simulated indifference.
"Begging, breaking stones, or what?"

"No," said Rugge, dejectedly; "I can't say it was what, in farcical
composition, I should call such nuts to me as that, sir. Still, he was
in a low way--seemed a pedlar or a hawker, selling out of a pannier on
the Rialto--I mean the Cornmarket, sir--not even a hag by his side, only
a great dog--French. A British dog would have scorned such fellowship.
And he did not look merry as he used to do when in my troop. Did he,
Hag?"

"His conscience smites him," said the Hag, solemnly.

"Did you speak to him?"

"Why, no. I should have liked it, but we could not at that moment,
seeing that we were not in our usual state of independence. This
faithful creature was being led before the magistrates, and I too--charge
of cheating a cook-maid, to whom the Hag had only said, 'that if the
cards spoke true, she would ride in her carriage.' The charge broke
down; but we were placed for the night in the Cells of the Inquisition,
remanded, and this morning banished from the city, and are now on our way
to--any other city;--eh, Hag?"

"And the old man was not with the Phenomenon? What has become of her,
then?"