The Poacher by Frederick Marryat

Although it may be very proper, when an offence has been offered us, to show that we feel the injury, it often happens that we act too much upon impulse and carry measures to extremities; and this our hero felt as the coach wheeled him along, every second increasing his distance from Emma Phillips; twenty times he was inclined to take a postchaise and return, but the inconsistency would have been so glaring, that shame prevented him; so he went on until he reached the metropolis, and on arriving there, having nothing better to do, he went to bed. The next day he booked himself for the following day's coach to Manstone, and having so done, he thought he would reconnoitre the domicile of Major and Mrs McShane, and, now that Furness was no longer to be dreaded, make his existence known to them.

He went to Holborn accordingly, and found the shop in the same place, with the usual enticing odour sent forth from the grating which gave light and air to the kitchen; but he perceived that there was no longer the name of McShane on the private door, and entering the coffee-room, and looking towards the spot where Mrs McShane usually stood carving the joint, he discovered a person similarly employed whose face was unknown to him; in fact, it could not be Mrs McShane, as it was a man. Our hero went up to him, and inquired if the McShanes still carried on the business, and was told that they had sold it some time back. His next inquiry, as to what had become of them, produced an "I don't know," with some symptoms of impatience at being interrupted. Under such circumstances, our hero had nothing more to do but either to sit down and eat beef or to quit the premises.