towards the prisoner, was too conscientious to swerve from the strict
path of justice. There was abundant concurrent testimony that made the
proof of guilt incontrovertible, and Starlight Tom's mittimus was made
out accordingly.

The sympathy of the ladies was now greater than ever; they even made
some attempts to mollify the ire of Ready-Money Jack; but that sturdy
potentate had been too much incensed by the repeated incursions that had
been made into his territories by the predatory band of Starlight Tom,
and he was resolved, he said, to drive the "varmint reptiles" out of the
neighbourhood. To avoid all further importunities, as soon as the
mittimus was made out, he girded up his loins, and strode back to his
seat of empire, accompanied by his interceding friend, Slingsby, and
followed by a detachment of the gipsy gang, who hung on his rear,
assailing him with mingled prayers and execrations.

The question now was, how to dispose of the prisoner; a matter of great
moment in this peaceful establishment, where so formidable a character
as Starlight Tom was like a hawk entrapped in a dovecot. As the hubbub
and examination had occupied a considerable time, it was too late in the
day to send him to the county prison, and that of the village was sadly
out of repair from long want of occupation. Old Christy, who took great
interest in the affair, proposed that the culprit should be committed
for the night to an upper loft of a kind of tower in one of the
out-houses, where he and the gamekeeper would mount guard. After much
deliberation this measure was adopted; the premises in question were
examined and made secure, and Christy and his trusty ally, the one armed
with a fowling-piece, the other with an ancient blunderbuss, turned out
as sentries to keep watch over this donjon-keep.

[Illustration: The Guard]

Such is the momentous affair that has just taken place, and it is an
event of too great moment in this quiet little world not to turn it
completely topsy-turvy. Labour is at a stand. The house has been a
scene of confusion the whole evening. It has been beleaguered by gipsy
women, with their children on their backs, wailing and lamenting; while
the old virago of a mother has cruised up and down the lawn in front,
shaking her head and muttering to herself, or now and then breaking out
into a paroxysm of rage, brandishing her fist at the Hall, and
denouncing ill-luck upon Ready-Money Jack, and even upon the squire
him