Crispin saw the flush, and reading aright its meaning, he drew from his pocket a purse that he had been fingering, and placed it quietly upon the table.

"There are fifty Caroluses in that bag.

That should suffice to carry you to France.

Fare you well until we meet at Calais." And without giving the boy time to utter thanks that might be unwilling, he quickly left the room.
Within the hour he was in the saddle, and his horse's head was turned northwards once more.
He rode through Newport some three hours later without drawing rein.

By the door of the Raven Inn stood a travelling carriage, upon which he did not so much as bestow a look.
By the merest thread hangs at times the whole of a man's future life, the destinies even of men as yet unborn.