‘To be sure! sartainly! And mind ye recommend weel that them ’at brake t’ bits o’ frames, and teed Joe Scott’s legs wi’ band, suld be hung without benefit o’ clergy. It’s a hanging matter, or suld be; no doubt o’ that.’

‘If I judged them, I’d give them short shrift!’ cried Moore; ‘but I mean to let them quite alone this bout, to give them rope enough, certain that in the end they will hang themselves.’

‘Let them alone, will ye, Moore? Do you promise that?’

‘Promise! No. All I mean to say is, I shall give myself no particular trouble to catch them; but if one falls in my way—’

‘You’ll snap him up, of course; only you would rather they would do something worse than merely stop a waggon before you reckon with them. Well, we’ll say no more on the subject at present. Here we are at my door, gentlemen, and I hope you and the men will step in; you will none of you be the worse of a little refreshment.’

Moore and Helstone opposed this proposition as unnecessary; it was, however, pressed on them so courteously, and the night, besides, was so inclement, and the gleam from the muslin-curtained windows of the house before which they had halted looked so inviting, that at length they yielded. Mr. Yorke, after having alighted from his gig, which he left in charge of a man who issued from an outbuilding on his arrival, led the way in.

It will have been remarked that Mr. Yorke varied a little in his phraseology; now he spoke broad Yorkshire, and anon he expressed himself in very pure English. His manner seemed liable to equal alternations; he could be polite and affable, and he could be blunt and rough. His station, then, you could not easily determine by his speech and demeanour; perhaps the appearance of his residence may decide it.

The men he recommended to take the kitchen way, saying that he would ‘see them served wi’ summat to taste presently.’ The gentlemen were ushered in at the front entrance. They found themselves in a matted hall, lined almost to the ceiling with pictures; through this they were conducted to a large parlour, with a magnificent fire in the grate; the most cheerful of rooms it appeared as a whole, and when you came to examine details, the enlivening effect was not diminished. There was no splendour, but there was taste everywhere —unusual taste—the taste, you would have said, of a travelled man, a scholar, and a gentleman. A series of Italian views decked the walls; each of these was a specimen of true art; a connoisseur had selected them; they were genuine and valuable. Even by candlelight, the bright, clear skies, the soft distances with blue air quivering between the eye and the hills, the fresh tints, and well- massed lights and shadows, charmed the view. The subjects were all pastoral, the scenes were all sunny. There was a guitar and some music on a sofa; there were cameos, beautiful miniatures; a set of Grecian-looking vases on the mantelpiece; there were books well arranged in two elegant book-cases.

Mr. Yorke bade his guests be seated; he then rang for wine; to the servant who brought it he gave hospitable orders for the refreshment of the men in the kitchen. The Rector remained standing; he seemed not to like his quarters; he would not touch the wine his host offered him.

‘E’en as you will,’ remarked Mr. Yorke. ‘I reckon you’re thinking of Eastern customs, Mr. Helstone, and you’ll not eat nor drink under my roof, feared we suld be forced to be friends; but I am not so particular or superstitious. You might sup the contents of that decanter, and you might give me a bottle of the best in your own cellar, and I’d hold myself free to oppose you at every turn still—in every vestry-meeting and justice-meeting when we encountered one another.’

‘It is just what I should expect of you, Mr. Yorke.’

‘Does it agree wi’ ye now, Mr. Helstone, to be riding out after rioters, of a wet night, at your age?’