My fears became more and more acute as day followed day without our seeing or hearing anything of them.
One morning--it was the second day of October--I was walking towards the Hall, hoping that I might be fortunate enough to learn some news of my darling, when I observed a man perched upon a stone at the side of the road.
As I came nearer to him I could see that he was a stranger, and from his dusty clothes and dilapidated appearance he seemed to have come from a distance.

He had a great hunch of bread on his knee and a clasp-knife in his hand, but he had apparently just finished his breakfast, for he brushed the crumbs off his lap and rose to his feet when he perceived me.
Noticing the great height of the fellow and that he still held his weapon, I kept well to the other side of the road, for I knew that destitution makes men desperate and that the chain that glittered on my waistcoat might be too great a temptation to him upon this lonely highway.

I was confirmed in my fears when I saw him step out into the centre of the road and bar my progress.
"Well, my lad," I said, affecting an ease which I by no means felt, "what can I do for you this morning ?" The fellow's face was the colour of mahogany with exposure to the weather, and he had a deep scar from the corner of his mouth to his ear, which by no means improved his appearance.

His hair was grizzled, but his figure was stalwart, and his fur cap was cocked on one side so as to give him a rakish, semi-military appearance.

Altogether he gave me the impression of being one of the most dangerous types of tramp that I had ever fallen in with.
Instead of replying to my question, he eyed me for some time in silence with sullen, yellow-shot eyes, and then closed his knife with a loud snick.
"You're not a beak," he said, "too young for that, I guess.