“But I have got the money to pay it,” remonstrated William.

“Pay it, then.”

“But my money is at home, give me two days.  I’ll write to my wife and she will send it me.”  The officers, with a coarse laugh, told him he must come with them meantime.

Meadows whispered Susan:  “I’ll pay it for him to-morrow.”

They took off William Fielding in Meadows’ four-wheeled chaise.

“Where are they taking him, John?”

“To the county jail.”

“Oh, don’t let them take him there.  Can you not trust him?”

“Yes.”

“Then why not pay for him?”

“But I don’t carry money in my pocket, and the bank is closed.”

“How unfortunate!”

“Very! but I’ll send it over to-morrow early, and we will have him out.”

“Oh, yes, poor fellow! the very first thing in the morning.”

“Yes! the first thing—­after we are married.”

Soon after this Meadows bade Susan affectionately farewell, and rode off to Newborough to buy his gloves and some presents for his bride.  On the road he overtook William Fielding going to jail, leaned over his saddle as he cantered by, and said, “Mrs. Meadows will send the money in to free you in the morning,” then on again as cool as a cucumber and cantered into the town before sunset, put up black Rachel at the King’s Head, made his purchases, and back to the inn.  As he sat in the bar-parlor drinking a glass of ale and chatting with the landlady, two travelers came into the passage.  They did not stop in it long, for one of them knew the house and led his companion into the coffee-room.  But in that moment, by a flash of recognition, spite of their bronzed color and long beards, Meadows had seen who they were—­George Fielding and Thomas Robinson.

Words could not paint in many pages what Meadows passed through in a few seconds.  His very body was one moment cold as ice, the next burning.

The coffee-room door was open—­he dragged himself into the passage, though each foot in turn seemed glued to the ground, and listened.  He came back and sat down in the bar.

“Are they going to stay?” said the mistress to the waiter.

“Yes, to be called at five o’clock.”

The bell rang.  The waiter went and immediately returned.  “Hot with,” demanded the waiter, in a sharp, mechanical tone.

“Here, take my keys for the lump sugar,” said the landlady, and she poured first the brandy and then the hot water into a tumbler, then went upstairs to see about the travelers’ beds.

Meadows was left alone a few moments with the liquor.  A sudden flash came to Meadows’ eye, he put his hand hastily to his waistcoat-pocket, and then his eye brightened still more.  Yes, it was there, he thought he had had the curiosity to keep it by him.  He drew out the white lump Crawley had left on his table that night, and flung it into the glass just as the waiter returned with the sugar.