'Now, Herbert,' said I, 'with reference to gaining some knowl-
edge of his history. There is but one way that I know of. I must
ask him point-blank.'

'Yes. Ask him,' said Herbert, 'when we sit at breakfast in the
morning.' For, he had said, on taking leave of Herbert, that he
would come to breakfast with us.

With this project formed, we went to bed. I had the wildest
dreams concerning him, and woke unrefreshed; I woke, too, to
recover the fear which I had lost in the night, of his being found
out as a returned transport. Waking, I never lost that fear.

He came round at the appointed time, took out his jack-knife,
and sat down to his meal. He was full of plans 'for his gentle-
man's coming out strong, and like a gentleman,' and urged me to
begin speedily upon the pocket-book, which he had left in my pos-
session. He considered the chambers and his own lodging as tem-
porary residences, and advised me to look out at once for a 'fash-
ionable crib' near Hyde Park, in which he could have 'a shake-
down.' When he had made an end of his breakfast, and was
wiping his knife on his leg, I said to him, without a word of
preface:

'After you were gone last night, I told my friend of the struggle
that the soldiers found you engaged in on the marshes, when we
came up. You remember?'

'Remember!' said he. 'I think so!'

'We want to know something about that man--and about you.
It is strange to know no more about either, and particularly you,
than I was able to tell last night. Is not this as good a time as
another for our knowing more?'

'Well!' he said, after consideration. 'You're on your oath, you
know, Pip's comrade?'

'Assuredly,' replied Herbert.

'As to anything I say, you know,' he insisted. 'The oath applies
to all.'

'I understand it to do so.'

'And look'ee here! Wotever I done, is worked out and paid for,'
he insisted again.

'So be it.'

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