CHAPTER XIX.
The wandering inclinations of nomad tribes not to be accounted for on the principles of action peculiar to civilized men, who are accustomed to live in good houses and able to pay the income tax .-- When the money that once belonged to a man civilized vanishes into the pockets of a nomad, neither lawful art nor occult science can, with certainty, discover what he will do with it .-- Mr.Vance narrowly escapes well-merited punishment from the nails of the British Fair--Lionel Haughton, in the temerity of youth, braves the dangers of a British Railway.
The morning was dull and overcast, rain gathering in the air, when Vance and Lionel walked to Waife's lodging.

As Lionel placed his hand on the knocker of the private door, the Cobbler, at his place by the window in the stall beside, glanced towards him, and shook his head.
"No use knocking, gentlemen.

Will you kindly step in ?--this way." "Do you mean that your lodgers are out ?" asked Vance.
"Gone!" said the Cobbler, thrusting his awl with great vehemence through the leather destined to the repair of a ploughman's boot.
"Gone--for good!" cried Lionel; "you cannot mean it.

I call by appointment." "Sorry, sir, for your trouble.

Stop a bit; I have a letter here for you." The Cobbler dived into a drawer, and from a medley of nails and thongs drew forth a letter addressed to L.Haughton, Esq.
"Is this from Waife?
How on earth did he know my surname?
you never mentioned it, Vance ?" "Not that I remember.