turning round with a natural, yet somewhat sterner air, to Mr. Morris, “that the gentleman will allow I had better opportunity to take cognisance wha were present on that occasion than he, being, I believe, much the cooler o’ the twa.”

“I agree to it, sir—I agree to it perfectly,” said Morris, shrinking back, as Campbell moved his chair towards him to fortify his appeal—“And I incline, sir,” he added, addressing Mr. Inglewood, “to retract my information as to Mr. Osbaldistone; and I request, sir, you will permit him, sir, to go about his business, and me to go about mine also; your worship may have business to settle with Mr. Campbell, and I am rather in haste to be gone.”

“Then, there go the declarations,” said the Justice, throwing them into the fire—“And now you are at perfect liberty, Mr. Osbaldistone—And you, Mr. Morris, are set quite at your ease.”

“Ay,” said Campbell, eyeing Morris as he assented with a rueful grin to the Justice’s observations, “much like the ease of a toad under a pair of harrows—But fear nothing, Mr. Morris; you and I maun leave the house thegither. I will see you safe—I hope you will not doubt my honour, when I say sae—to the next highway, and then we part company; and if we do not meet as friends in Scotland, it will be your ain fault.”

With such a lingering look of terror as the condemned criminal throws, when he is informed that the cart awaits him, Morris arose; but when on his legs, appeared to hesitate. “I tell thee, man, fear nothing,” reiterated Campbell; “I will keep my word with you—Why, thou sheep’s heart, how do ye ken but we may can pick up some speerings of your valise, if ye will be amenable to gude counsel?—Our horses are ready. Bid the Justice fareweel, man, and show your southern breeding.”

Morris, thus exhorted and encouraged, took his leave, under the escort of Mr. Campbell; but, apparently, new scruples and terrors had struck him before they left the house, for I heard Campbell reiterating assurances of safety and protection as they left the anteroom—“By the soul of my body, man, thou’rt as safe as in thy father’s kail-yard—Zounds! that a chield wi’ sic a black beard, should hae nae mair heart than a hen-partridge!—Come on wi’ ye, like a frank fallow, anes and for aye.”

The voices died away, and the subsequent trampling of their horses announced to us that they had left the mansion of Justice Inglewood.

The joy which that worthy magistrate received at this easy conclusion of a matter which threatened him with some trouble in his judicial capacity, was somewhat damped by reflection on what his clerk’s views of the transaction might be at his return. “Now, I shall have Jobson on my shoulders about these d—d papers—I doubt I should not have destroyed them, after all—But, hang it, it is only paying his fees, and that will make all smooth—And now, Miss Die Vernon, though I have liberated all others, I intend to sign a writ for committing you to the custody of Mother Blakes, my old housekeeper, for the evening, and we will send for my neighbour Mrs. Musgrave, and the Miss Dawkins, and your cousins, and have old Cobs the fiddler, and be as merry as the maids; and Frank Osbaldistone and I will have a carouse that will make us fit company for you in half an hour.”

“Thanks, most worshipful,” returned Miss Vernon; “but, as matters stand, we must return instantly to Osbaldistone Hall, where they do not know what has become of us, and relieve my uncle of his anxiety on my cousin’s account, which is just the same as if one of his own sons were concerned.”

“I believe it truly,” said the Justice; “for when his eldest son, Archie, came to a bad end, in that unlucky affair of Sir John Fenwick’s, old Hildebrand used to hollow out his name as readily as any of the remaining six, and then complain that he could not recollect which of his sons had been hanged. So, pray hasten home, and relieve his paternal solicitude, since go you must.—But, hark thee hither, heathblossom,” he said, pulling her towards him by the hand, and in a good-humoured tone of admonition, “another time let the law take its course, without putting your pretty finger into her old musty pie, all full of fragments of law gibberish—French and dog-Latin—And, Die, my beauty, let young fellows show each other the way