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Miles Milton had thought of his mother at that time he might have escaped many a day of bitter repentance, for she was as gentle as her husband was harsh; but the angry youth either forgot her at the moment, or, more probably, thrust the thought of her away.
Poor mother! if she had only known what a conflict between good and evil was going on in the breast of her boy, how she would have agonised in prayer for him! But she did not know. There was, however, One who did know, who loved him better even than his mother, and who watched and guarded him throughout all his chequered career.
It is not improbable that in spite of his resolves Miles would have relented before night and returned home had not a very singular incident intervened and closed the door behind him.
That day a notorious swindler had been tracked by a red-haired detective to the manufacturing city, to which Miles first directed his steps. The bills describing the swindler set forth that he was quite young, tall, handsome, broad-shouldered, with black curling hair, and a budding moustache; that he was dressed in grey tweeds, and had a prepossessing manner. Now this chanced to be in some respects an exact description of Miles Milton!
The budding moustache, to be sure, was barely discernible, still it was sufficiently so for a detective to found on. His dress, too, was brown tweed, not grey; but of course dresses can be changed; and as to his manner, there could not be two opinions about that.
Now it chanced to be past one o'clock when Miles entered the town and felt himself impelled by familiar sensations to pause in front of an eating-house. It was a poor eating-house in a low district, but Miles was not particular; still further, it was a temperance coffee-house, but Miles cared nothing for strong drink. Strong health and spirits had served his purpose admirably up to that date.
Inside the eating-house there sat several men of the artisan class, and a few of the nondescript variety. Among the latter was the red-haired detective. He was engaged with a solid beef-steak.
"Oho!" escaped softly from his lips, when his sharp eyes caught sight of our hero. So softly did he utter the exclamation that it might have been a mere remark of appreciation addressed to the steak, from which he did not again raise his eyes for a considerable time.
The place was very full of people--so full that there seemed scarcely room for another guest; but by some almost imperceptible motion the red-haired man made a little space close to himself. The man next to him, with a hook-nose, widened the space by similar action, and Miles, perceiving that there was room, sat down.
"Bread and cheese," he said to the waiter.
"Bread an' cheese, sir? Yessir."
Miles was soon actively engaged in mechanically feeding, while his mind was busy as to future plans.
Presently he became aware that the men on either side of him were scanning his features and person with peculiar attention.
"Coldish weather," remarked the red-haired man, looking at him in a friendly way.
"It is," replied Miles, civilly enough.
"Rather cold for bathin', ain't it, sir?" continued the detective carelessly, picking his teeth with a quill.
"How did you know that I've been bathing?" demanded Miles in surprise.
"I didn't know it."
"How did you guess it then?"
"Vell, it ain't difficult to guess that a young feller 'as bin 'avin' a swim w'en you see the 'air of 'is 'ead hall vet, an' 'is pocket-'ankercher lookin' as if it 'ad done dooty for a towel, not to mention 'is veskit 'avin' bin putt on in a 'urry, so as the buttons ain't got into the right 'oles, you see!"
Miles laughed, and resumed his bread and cheese.
"You are observant, I perceive," he said.
"Not wery partiklarly so," returned Redhair; "but I do obsarve that your boots tell of country roads. Was it a long way hout of town as you was bathin' this forenoon, now?"
There was a free and easy familiarity about the man's tone which Miles resented, but, not wishing to run the risk of a disagreement in such company, he answered quietly--"Yes, a considerable distance; it was in an old quarry where I often bathe, close to my father's house."
"Ha! jest so, about 'alf-way to the willage of Ramplin', w'ere you slep' last night, if report speaks true, an' w'ere you left the grey tweeds, unless, p'r'aps, you sunk 'em in the old quarry."
"Why, what on earth do you mean?" asked Miles, with a look of such genuine surprise that Redhair was puzzled, and the man with the hooked nose, who had been listening attentively, looked slightly confused.
"Read that, sir," said the detective, extracting a newspaper cutting from his pocket and laying it on the table before Miles.
While he