Wheeling Sunday register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1882-1934, 1899-03-12

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company.
In a way, I was a man without a
country; but l loved Old England still.
and tomorrow I should see her for the
last time; SO that / was particularly
DESTROYS not to have these hours be-
fouled with the language of this clan
l was deserving.
Some turned to the east, some to the
west, but 1 alone had just sauntered
slowly out of Stanhope Gate when it
changed shut behind me
There was no hurry for me, since it
did not matter when or where l found
a Swallowed doorstep to crouch upon,
till bad luck once more drove me on.
I took no heed of direction, therefore,
and was only dimly conscious that, as
1 sanutered along the pavement, my
hands in what was left of my pockets,
wheels kept stealthy pace with me,
close to the curb. Suddenly, however,
a courteous yet insistent voice reused
me to lift my head.
"Cab, sir? Better have a cab, SIR"
At the moment, as it happened, l had
reached a street lamp, and l saw that
an uncommonly smart hanson had
been logging my footsteps.
My first thought was that the driver
was amusing himself by batting the
shabby wretch whom he must have
seen driven Out of the Park with the
rest of the menagerie, and as l was not
in a mood for more banter, I quickened
my steps.
The cab horse responded to a slight
pulling in of the reins, and followed
my example, his sleek chestnut nose
keeping in advance of my shoulder.
81 beg your pardon, sir" said the
man again, with some ea%rnestness,
"5ut l was sent out to fetch you.
Please get in"
There was no note of chatting in the
voice, and l looked round sharply, OBJ
serving him with particularly for the
first time. My former glance had been
directed at the vehicle and the horse
he drove, both of which were SO adj
mirable as to be singular in their ap-
pearance. But now l saw that the nan
matched the turnout in his smartness.
He had a shining hat, with a little
cockade on n side, and, to my aston
ishment, was in the neat, dark livery
of a private servant.
you are mad, my friend, or else
you have made an absurd mistake" l
said abruptly. 81 am not the man you
have been sent to fetch"
"But you are, sir, I ssure you," he
persisted. "Are you not the Honor
able Mr.. Napier?"
At that l stopped dead, and stared
him in the face, which, despite the
brilliant white lights of his cab, was
somewhat in shadow. l could only see
enough to be sure, or almost sure, that
it was a strangers; but the voice,
though equally unfamiliar, was far
from seeming like the uncultured one
Of the ordinary cabman, or ever SER
want.
l scented something queer, but I was
interested. MY name is Napier" 1
replied, for l had no special object in
%concealing it at present, though my
passage had been secured under an
other. Still, l fail to see"
eff you will get into my cab, and let
me drive you home, you will see," he
argued.
Il have no home"
Il meant, sir, to the home Of my
master.
And who may he be-" 1 demanded.
"The gentleman who sent me to
fetch you"
you surely don't expect. and he did
not expect, that l would go with you,
in ignorance of his name and where he
lives?"
Il believe that he did expect it, sir.
His words to me were: Mr.. Napier
is a gentleman to engage in an adven-
ture without asking questions
HIM" said I, and laughed shortly.
But the mans hint had had a certain
effect.
had not hesitated through fear of
consequences, simply because for a
mar in my condition there was moth
ing which could possibly be feared.
Not death, assuredly; for l would well
come death, so that l need not win the
boon of it by the cowardly cutting Of
the knot which bound me to misfor-
tune. Not ROBBERY, for l was in second
hand ~shabbiness, which l had bought
for a song, to hide, on shipboard, the