A quick flush passed over the horseman’s cheek, but remained not a moment.  “That is not my case,” he replied, in a graver tone than he had hitherto used; “not a stiver would I have taken that came out of the good Duke’s pocket, had it been to save me from starving.  I take no money from any but an enemy; and when we cannot carry on the war with them in the open field, I do not see why we should not carry it on with them in any way we can.  But to attack a friend, or an indifferent person, is not at all in my way.”

“Oh!  I begin to understand you somewhat more clearly,” replied Wilton; “but allow me to say, my good sir, that it were much better not to talk to me any more upon such subjects.  By so doing, you run a needless risk yourself, and can do neither of us any good.  Of course,” he added, willing to change the conversation, “it was Sir John Fenwick who told you my name.”

“Yes,” replied the other; “but it was needless, for I knew it before.”

“And yet,” said Wilton, “I do not remember that we ever met.”

“There you are mistaken,” answered the traveller; “we met no longer ago than last Monday week.  You were going down the High-street in your cap and gown, and you saw some boys looking into a tart shop, and gave them some pence to buy what they longed for.”

The ingenuous colour came up into Wilton Brown’s cheek, as he remembered the little circumstance to which the man alluded.  “I did not see you,” he said.

“But I saw you,” answered the man, “and was pleased with what I saw; for I am one of those whom the hard lessons of life have taught to judge more by the small acts done in private, than by the great acts that all mankind must see.  Man’s closet acts are for his own heart and God’s eye; man’s public deeds are paintings for the world.  However, I was pleased, as I have said, and I have seen more things of you also that have pleased me well.  You saw me, passed me by, and would not know me again in the same shape to-morrow; but I take many forms, when it may suit my purposes; and having been well pleased with you once or twice, I take heed of what you are about when I do see you.”

Wilton Brown mused over what he said for a moment or two, and then replied, “I should much like to know what it was first induced you to take any notice of my actions at all—­there must have been some motive, of course.”

“Oh, no,” replied the other—­“there is no must!  It might have been common curiosity.  Every likely youth, with a pair of broad shoulders and a soldier-like air, is worth looking after in these times of war and trouble.  But the truth is, I know those who know something of you, and, if I liked, I could introduce you to one whom you have not seen for many a year.”

“What is his name?” demanded Wilton Brown, turning sharply upon the stranger, and gazing full in his face.

“Oh!  I name no names,” replied the stranger; “I know not whether it would be liked or not.  However, some day I will do what I have said, if I can get leave; and now I think I will wish you good morning, for here lies my road, and there lies yours.”