“Your honour will consider the dignity of the office—one of the quorum and custos rotulorum, an office of which Sir Edward Coke wisely saith, The whole Christian world hath not the like of it, so it be duly executed.”

“Well,” said the Justice, partly reconciled by this eulogium on the dignity of his situation, and gulping down the rest of his dissatisfaction in a huge bumper of claret, “let us to this gear then, and get rid of it as fast as we can.—Here you, sir—you, Morris—you, knight of the sorrowful countenance—is this Mr. Francis Osbaldistone the gentleman whom you charge with being art and part of felony?”

“I, sir?” replied Morris, whose scattered wits had hardly yet re-assembled themselves—“I charge nothing—I say nothing against the gentleman.”

“Then we dismiss your complaint, sir, that’s all, and a good riddance—Push about the bottle—Mr. Osbaldistone, help yourself.”

Jobson, however, was determined that Morris should not back out of the scrape so easily. “What do you mean, Mr. Morris?—Here is your own declaration—the ink scarce dried—and you would retract it in this scandalous manner!”

“How do I know,” whispered the other, in a tremulous tone, “how many rogues are in the house to back him?—I have read of such things in Johnson’s Lives of the Highwaymen. I protest the door opens——”

And it did open, and Diana Vernon entered—“You keep fine order here, Justice—not a servant to be seen or heard of.”

“Ah!” said the Justice, starting up with an alacrity which showed that he was not so engrossed by his devotions to Themis, or Comus, as to forget what was due to beauty—“Ah, ha! Die Vernon, the heath- bell of Cheviot, and the blossom of the Border, come to see how the old bachelor keeps house?—Art welcome, girl, as flowers in May.”

“A fine, open, hospitable house you do keep, Justice, that must be allowed—not a soul to answer a visitor.”

“Ah! the knaves, they reckoned themselves secure of me for a couple of hours—But why did you not come earlier?—Your cousin Rashleigh dined here, and ran away like a poltroon after the first bottle was out—But you have not dined—we’ll have something nice and ladylike—sweet and pretty, like yourself, tossed up in a trice.”

“I may eat a crust in the anteroom before I set out,” answered Miss Vernon—“I have had a long ride this morning; but I can’t stay long, Justice—I came with my cousin, Frank Osbaldistone there, and I must show him the way back again to the Hall, or he’ll lose himself in the wolds.”

“Whew! sits the wind in that quarter?” inquired the Justice.

‘She show’d him the way, and she show’d him the way,

She show’d him the way to woo.’

What! no luck for old fellows, then, my sweet bud of the wilderness?”

“None whatever, Squire Inglewood; but if you will be a good kind Justice, and despatch young Frank’s business, and let us canter home again, I’ll bring my uncle to dine with you next week, and we’ll expect merry doings.”

“And you shall find them, my pearl of the Tyne—Zookers, lass, I never envy these young fellows their rides and scampers, unless when you come across me. But I must not keep you just now, I suppose!—I am quite satisfied with Mr. Francis Osbaldistone’s explanation—here has been some mistake, which can be cleared at greater leisure.”