“Stupidly enough,” replied Lennard Sherbrooke; “for here the first thing that you do is to attack a man who is just as likely to take as to give, and ask for a man’s money who has but a guinea and a shilling in all the world.”

“I am but raw at the trade, I confess,” replied the other, “and we are none of us much more learned.  The truth is, we were only practising upon you, Sherbrooke, we expect a much better prize to-morrow; but what say you, if your condition be such, why not come and take a turn upon the road with us?  It is the most honourable trade going now-a-days.  Treason and treachery, indeed, carry off the honours at court; but there are so many traitors of one gang or another, that betraying one’s friend is become a vulgar calling.  Take a turn with us on the road, man! take a turn with us on the road!”

“Upon my soul,” replied Sherbrooke, “I think the plan not a bad one; I believe if I had met you alone, Frank, I should have tried to rob you.”

“Don’t call it rob,” replied Frank Bryerly, “call it soliciting from, or relieving.  But it is a bargain, Sherbrooke, isn’t it?”

Lennard Sherbrooke paused and thought for a moment, with the scattered remains of better feelings, like some gallant party of a defeated army trying still to rally and resist against the overpowering force of adverse circumstances.  He thought, in that short moment, of what other course he could follow; he turned his eyes to the east and the west, to the north and the south, for the chance of one gleam of hope, for the prospect of any opening to escape.  It was in vain, his last hope had been trampled out that night.  He had not even money to fly, and seek, on some other shore, the means of support and existence.  He had but sufficient to support himself and his horse, and the poor boy, for three or four more days.  Imagination pictured that poor boy’s bright countenance, looking up to him for food and help, and finding none, and grasping Bryerly’s hand, he said, in a low voice, “It is a bargain.  Where and how shall I join you?”

“Oh!” replied the other, “we three are up at Mudicot’s inn, about four miles there:  you had better turn your horse and go back with us.”

“No,” replied Sherbrooke, “I have some matters to settle at the little inn down there:  all that I have in the world is there, and that, Heaven knows, is little enough; I will join you to-morrow.”

“Sherbrooke,” said Bryerly, drawing him a little on one side and speaking low, “I am a rich man, you know:  I have got ten guineas in my pocket:  you must share them with me.”

Pride had already said “No!” but Bryerly insisted, saying, “You can pay me in a day or two.”

Sherbrooke thought of the boy again, and accepted the money; and then bidding his companions adieu for the time, he left them and returned to the inn.