“You are mistaken entirely,” replied Wilton, “in regard to my not wishing to see my old friends.  I very much wish it.  I wish to hear more of my early history, about which there seems to me to be some mystery.”

“Is there?” said the stranger, in a careless tone.  “Whether anything will be explained to you or not, I cannot say.  At all events, you must meet me there; and, in the meantime tell me, have you seen Sir John Fenwick since last we met?”

“No, I have not,” replied Wilton.  “Why do you ask?”

“Because,” replied the other, “Sir John Fenwick is a dangerous companion, and it were better that you did not consort with him.”

“That I certainly shall not do,” replied Wilton, “knowing his character sufficiently already.”

“Indeed!” replied the other.  “You have grown learned in people’s characters of late, Master Brown:  perhaps you know mine also; and if you do, of course you will give me the meeting to-morrow at the Green Dragon.”

He spoke with a smile; and Wilton replied, “I am by no means sure that I shall do so, unless I have a better cause assigned, and a clearer knowledge of what I am going there for.”

“Prudent!  Prudent!” said the stranger.  “Quite right to be prudent, Master Wilton.  Nevertheless, you must come, for the matter is now one of some moment.  Therefore, without asking you to answer at present, I shall expect you.  At six of the clock, remember—­precisely.”

“I by no means promise to come,” replied Wilton, “though I do not say that I will not.  But you said that you wished to tell me something which might be useful to others.  Pray what may that be?”

“Why,” answered the stranger, “I wish you to give a little warning to your acquaintance, the Duke of Gaveston, regarding this very Sir John Fenwick and his character.”

“Nay,” said Wilton, “nay—­that I can hardly do.  My acquaintance with the Duke himself is extremely small.  The Duke is a man of the world sufficiently old to judge for himself, and with sufficient experience to know the character of Sir John Fenwick without my explaining it to him.”

“The Duke,” replied the other, “is a grown baby, with right wishes and good intentions, as well as kind feelings; but a coral and bells would lure him almost anywhere, and he has got into the hands of one who will not fail to lead him into mischief.  I thought you knew him well; but nevertheless, well or ill, you must give him the warning.”

“I beg your pardon,” replied Wilton, drawing himself up coldly:  “but in one or two points you have been mistaken.  My knowledge of the Duke is confined to one interview.  I shall most probably never exchange another word with him in my life; and even if I were to do so, I should not think of assailing, to a mere common acquaintance, the character of a gentleman whom I may not like or trust myself, but who seems to be the intimate friend of the very person in whose good opinion you wish me to ruin him.”