“Johnson,” exclaimed John, in astonishment, “you here!  Where are you going—­to London?”

“To London, Mr. John,” replied Peter, with a look of much importance; and then, by way of silencing further interrogatories, he added, “On my master’s business, sir.”

Both Moseley and Lord Henry examined him closely; the former wondering what could take the steward, at the age of seventy, for the first time in his life, into the vortex of the capital; and the latter in admiration at this figure and equipments of the old man.  Peter was in full costume, with the exception of the goggles, and was in reality a subject to be gazed at; but nothing relaxed the muscles or attracted the particular notice of the soldier, who, having regained his set form of countenance, appeared drawn up in himself, waiting patiently for the moment he was expected to act.  Nor did he utter more than as many words in the course of the first fifty miles of their journey.  His dialect was singular, and such as put his hearers at a loss to determine his country.  Lord Henry stared at him every time he spoke, as if to say, what countryman are you? until at length he suggested to John he was some officer whom the downfall of Bonaparte had driven into retirement.

“Indeed, Moseley,” he added, as they were about to resume their carriage after a change of horses, “we must draw him out, and see what he thinks of his master now—­delicately, you know.”  The soldier was, however, impervious to his lordship’s attacks, until the project was finally abandoned in despair.  As Peter was much too modest to talk in the presence of Mr. John Moseley and a lord, the young men had most of the discourse to themselves.  At a village fifteen miles from London, a fashionable carriage and four, with the coronet of a marquis was in waiting for Lord Henry.  John refused his invitation to take a seat with him to town; for he had traced Denbigh from stage to stage, and was fearful of losing sight of him, unless he persevered in the manner he had commenced.  Peter and he accordingly were put down safely at an inn in the Strand, and Moseley hastened to make his inquiries after the object of his pursuit.  Such a chaise had arrived an hour before, and the gentleman had ordered his trunk to a neighboring hotel.  After obtaining the address, and ordering a hackney coach, he hastened to the house; but on inquiring for Mr. Denbigh, to his great mortification was told they knew of no such gentleman.  John turned away from the person he was speaking to in visible disappointment, when a servant respectfully inquired if the gentleman had not come from L——­, in Norfolk, that day.  “He had,” was the reply.  “Then follow me, sir, if you please.”  They knocked at a door of one of the parlors, and the servant entered:  he returned, and John was shown into a room, where Denbigh was sitting with his head resting on his hand, and apparently musing.  On seeing who required admittance, he sprang from his seat and exclaimed—­