Presently Yeo comes in again.

“There’s a gentleman just coming up, sir, all alone.”

“Ask him to make one of our party, then, with my compliments.” Yeo goes out, and returns in five minutes.

“Please, sir, he’s gone in back ways, by the court.”

“Well, he has an odd taste, if he makes himself at home here.”

Out goes Yeo again, and comes back once more after five minutes, in high excitement.

“Come out, sir; for goodness’ sake come out. I’ve got him. Safe as a rat in a trap, I have!”

“Who?”

“A Jesuit, sir.” “Nonsense, man!”

“I tell you truth, sir. I went round the house, for I didn’t like the looks of him as he came up. I knew he was one of them villains the minute he came up, by the way he turned in his toes, and put down his feet so still and careful, like as if he was afraid of offending God at every step. So I just put my eye between the wall and the dern of the gate, and I saw him come up to the back door and knock, and call ‘Mary!’ quite still, like any Jesuit; and the wench flies out to him ready to eat him; and ‘Go away,’ I heard her say, ‘there’s a dear man;’ and then something about a ‘queer cuffin’ (that’s a justice in these canters’ thieves’ Latin); and with that he takes out a somewhat—I’ll swear it was one of those Popish Agnuses—and gives it her; and she kisses it, and crosses herself, and asks him if that’s the right way, and then puts it into her bosom, and he says, ‘Bless you, my daughter;’ and then I was sure of the dog: and he slips quite still to the stable, and peeps in, and when he sees no one there, in he goes, and out I go, and shut to the door, and back a cart that was there up against it, and call out one of the men to watch the stable, and the girl’s crying like mad.”

“What a fool’s trick, man! How do you know that he is not some honest gentleman, after all?”

“Fool or none, sir; honest gentlemen don’t give maidens Agnuses. I’ve put him in; and if you want him let out again, you must come and do it yourself, for my conscience is against it, sir. If the Lord’s enemies are delivered into my hand, I’m answerable, sir,” went on Yeo as Amyas hurried out with him. “’Tis written, ‘If any let one of them go, his life shall be for the life of him.’”

So Amyas ran out, pulled back the cart grumbling, opened the door, and began a string of apologies to—his cousin Eustace.

Yes, here he was, with such a countenance, half foolish, half venomous, as reynard wears when the last spadeful of earth is thrown back, and he is revealed sitting disconsolately on his tail within a yard of the terriers’ noses.

Neither cousin spoke for a minute or two. At last Amyas—

“Well, cousin hide-and-seek, how long have you added horse-stealing to your other trades?”

“My dear Amyas,” said Eustace, very meekly, “I may surely go into an inn stable without intending to steal what is in it.”

“Of course, old fellow,” said Amyas, mollified, I was only in jest. But what brings you here? Not prudence, certainly.”

“I am bound to know no prudence save for the Lord’s work.”


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