y upon the impulse, he might, with his
momentary mastery of the mob, have won clean away; possible, but by no
means likely, for already a couple of constables were pushing forward to
support the Beadle, and half a dozen broad-shouldered fellows--haters of
"prerogative"--had recovered themselves and were ranging up to support
the law. Had he noted this, it would not have daunted him. What he
noted, and what gave him pause, was the girl's white back at his feet,
upturning its hideous weals. He stooped to lift her, and drew back,
shivering delicately at the thought of hurting the torn flesh in his
arms--a vain scruple, since she had passed for the moment beyond pain.
He picked up the scourge, and stood erect again, crushing it into his
pocket.

"Will you make way, please," he ordered, "while I fetch a cover to hide
your blasted handiwork?"

He strode through them, and they fell back to give him passage.
He walked straight to the coach, pulled the door open, and, in the act
of dragging forth a rug, caught sight of Dicky's small, scared face.

"Oh papa, what has happened?"

"An accident, child. Jump inside; I will explain by-and-by."

"Begging your Honour's pardon"--a heavy-featured fellow, who had
followed the Collector to the coach, put out a hand and touched the
child's shoulder--"I don't hold in whipping maidens, and if it's a fight
I'm with you. But you can't carry her out of it, the way you're
meaning. They've seen blood, same as yourself. This child of yours--he
stands as much chance to be hurt as any, if you push it. Your Honour'll
have to find some other way."

The Collector glanced over his shoulder, and saw that the man spoke
truth.

"Dicky," he said easily, but in a voice the child durst not disobey,
"there has been an accident. Go you down and amuse yourself on the
sands till Manasseh calls you."

He walked back coolly, carrying the rug on his arm.

"Where was she to be taken?" he asked.

"To the stocks!" answered a voice or two. "To the Court-house!" said
others.

"It's the same thing," said the heavy-browed man, at the Collector's
elbow. "The stocks are just across the square from the Court-house.
You'll find the magistrates there; they're the ones to face. They took
her case first this morning, and this is the first part of her
sentence."

Oliver Vyell walked back to the crowd. It was--a glance assured him--
more hostile than before; had recovered from its surprise, and was
menac