Two or three weeks afterwards, I again met with them, under the following circumstances:—­I landed from the Rose at Lymington, for the purpose of going by coach to Lyndhurst, a considerable village in the New Forest, from which an ex-chancellor derives his title.  I had appointed to meet a confidential agent there at the Fox and Hounds Inn, a third-rate tavern, situate at the foot of the hill upon which the place is built; and as the evening promised to be clear and fine, though cold, I anticipated a bracing, cross-country walk afterwards in the direction of Hythe, in the neighbourhood whereof dwelt a person—­neither a seaman nor a smuggler—­whose favour I was just then very diligently cultivating.  It was the month of November; and on being set down at the door of the inn somewhere about six o’clock in the evening, I quietly entered and took a seat in the smoking-room unrecognised, as I thought, by any one—­for I was not in uniform.  My man had not arrived; and after waiting a few minutes, I stepped out to inquire at the bar if such a person had been there.  To my great surprise, a young woman—­girl would be a better word, for she could not be more than seventeen, or at the utmost eighteen years old—­whom I had noticed on the outside of the coach, was just asking if one Dr Lee was expected.  This was precisely the individual who was to meet me, and I looked with some curiosity at the inquirer.  She was a coarsely, but neatly attired person, of a pretty figure, interesting, but dejected cast of features, and with large, dark, sorrowing eyes.  Thoughtfulness and care were not less marked in the humble, subdued tone in which she spoke.  ‘Could I sit down anywhere till he comes?’ she timidly asked, after hearing the bar-woman’s reply.  The servant civilly invited her to take a seat by the bar-fire, and I returned, without saying anything, to the smoking-room, rang the bell, and ordered a glass of brandy and water, and some biscuits.  I had been seated a very short time only, when the quick, consequential step, and sharp, cracked voice of Dr Lee sounded along the passage; and after a momentary pause at the bar, his round, smirking, good-humoured, knavish face looked in at the parlour-door, where, seeing me alone, he winked with uncommon expression, and said aloud:  ’A prime fire in the smoking-room, I see; I shall treat myself to a whiff there presently.’  This said, the shining face vanished, in order, I doubted not, that its owner might confer with the young girl who had been inquiring for him.  This Lee, I must observe, had no legal right to the prefix of doctor tacked to his name.  He was merely a peripatetic quack-salver and vender of infallible medicines, who, having wielded the pestle in an apothecary’s shop for some years during his youth, had acquired a little skill in the use of drugs, and could open a vein or draw a tooth with considerable dexterity.  He had a large, but not, I think, very remunerative practice amongst the poaching, deer-stealing, smuggling