it seems. Let me know yours.'

'I have not gained the information from any confidence of yours, but
from the inscription on your cart which tells it to all the town,'
replied the traveller.

'You have better eyes for that than you had for your horse, then,' said
Varden, descending nimbly from his chaise; 'who are you? Let me see your
face.'

While the locksmith alighted, the traveller had regained his saddle,
from which he now confronted the old man, who, moving as the horse moved
in chafing under the tightened rein, kept close beside him.

'Let me see your face, I say.'

'Stand off!'

'No masquerading tricks,' said the locksmith, 'and tales at the club
to-morrow, how Gabriel Varden was frightened by a surly voice and a dark
night. Stand--let me see your face.'

Finding that further resistance would only involve him in a personal
struggle with an antagonist by no means to be despised, the traveller
threw back his coat, and stooping down looked steadily at the locksmith.

Perhaps two men more powerfully contrasted, never opposed each other
face to face. The ruddy features of the locksmith so set off and
heightened the excessive paleness of the man on horseback, that he
looked like a bloodless ghost, while the moisture, which hard riding had