The master and the pupil walked on, rapidly and silently. They had nearly crossed the bridge, when a gentleman came coolly sauntering towards them, with a cigar in his mouth, his coat thrown back, and his hands behind him. Something in the careless manner of this person, and in a certain lazily arrogant air with which he approached, holding possession of twice as much pavement as another would have claimed, instantly caught the boy’s attention. As the gentleman passed the boy looked at him narrowly, and then stood still, looking after him.

“Who is it that you stare after?” asked Bradley.

“Why!” said the boy, with a confused and pondering frown upon his face, “It is that Wrayburn one!”

Bradley Headstone scrutinized the boy as closely as the boy had scrutinized the gentleman.