p may play."

"I will trump it with the knave," said the young man to himself; and
having again cautioned the clergyman to be secret, not without some
obscure menaces of danger to himself, if he failed, the two gentlemen
left him, and hurried down, as fast as they could go, to a small
alehouse in the village, where they had left their horses. In a few
minutes, a well known poacher, whose very frequent habitation was the
jail or the cage, was seen to issue forth from the door of the alehouse,
then to lead a very showy looking horse from the stable, and then to
mount him and take his way over the hill. The poacher had never
possessed a more dignified quadruped than a dog or a donkey in his life;
so that it was evident the horse could not be his. That he was not
engaged in the congenial but dangerous occupation of stealing it, was
clear from the fact of the owner of the beast gazing quietly at him out
of the window while he mounted; and then turning round to the attorney,
who sat at a table hard by, and saying, "he is off, I think."

"Well, let him go," replied the lawyer, "but I do not half like it,
Master John. Every thing in law should be cool and quiet. No
violence--no bustle."

"But this is not a matter of law," replied the younger man, "it is a
matter of safety, you fool. What might come of it, if he were to have a
long canting talk with the old wretch upon her death-bed?"

"Very little," replied the attorney, in a calm well-assured tone, "I
know her well. She is as hard as a flint stone. She always was, and time
has not softened her. Besides, he has no one with him to take
depositions, and if what you say is true, she'll not live till morning."

"But I tell you, she is getting frightened, as she comes near death!"
exclaimed the young man. "She has got all sorts of fancies into her
head; about hell, and purgatory, and the devil knows what; and she spoke
to my mother yesterday about repentance, and atonement, and a pack of
stuff more, and wanted extreme unction, and to confess to a priest. It
would be a fine salve, I fancy, that could patch up the wounds in her
conscience; but if this Philip Hastings were to come to her with his
grave face and solemn tone, and frighten her still more, he would get
any thing out of her he pleased."

"I don't think it," answered the lawyer deliberately; "hate, Master
John, is the longest lived passion I know. It lasts into the grave, as I
have often seen in making good men's wills