chief.

Stokoe glanced round uneasily as he wiped his sword, but it was not
possible to say which in the group of spectators was the man who had
given that compromising cry; it might be one of several who, to Stokoe's
extreme discomposure, seemed to look at him rather intently. Time to be
out of this, thought he; the farther he was from London the more freely
he would breathe just at present, and the less chance was there of that
breathing being permanently stopped. Policemen had not been invented in
those days, and there was not much chance of his being arrested for
duelling, for what was then called "the watch" was singularly
inefficient, and seldom to be found when wanted. Nevertheless, it was
now no easy matter for Stokoe to shake off the little "tail" of admirers
who insisted on following him; it was not every day that they had the
chance of seeing a man killed in fair fight, and they were loth to lose
sight of the man who had done it--a hero in their eyes. However, by dint
of plunging down one narrow street and up some other unsavoury alley,
and repeating the manoeuvre at intervals, blinding his trail as far as
possible, he at length shook off the last persevering remnant of his
admirers, and, without being tracked or shadowed, gained the shelter of
the house where he lodged. A few days saw him and his friends safely out
of London, bearing with them the body of the Earl of Derwentwater, which
was later buried at Dilston.

Frank Stokoe's position was an unfortunate one from now on. He was a
proscribed man; his property had been seized, and those now in
possession threatened if he put in an appearance, or made any attempt to
regain the property, that they would give him up to Government. Times
consequently became hard for poor Stokoe; his affairs went from bad to
worse, and though his name was included in the general pardon which
Government issued some time later, he never got back his land nor any of
his possessions. Part of the land passed with the Derwentwater Estate to
Greenwich Hospital, part, including the peel tower, where he and his
ancestors had lived for generations, remained in the clutches of those
who had seized it. Old age came upon Frank and found him
poverty-stricken; want came, "as an armed man," and found him too weak
to resist. The spirit was there, but no longer the strength that should
have helped the spirit. He sank and died, leaving behind him no shred of
worldly gear.

Another noted Northu