n old Puritan who never had pipe and tabor
in his house since it was built."

"Or who stopped a promising mine," said Ditchley, "to save a few
thousand pounds, when he might have made himself as rich as Lord of
Chatsworth, and fed a hundred good fellows all the whilst."

"Why, then," said Lance, "since you are all of a mind, we will go draw
the cover for the old badger; and I promise you that the Hall is not
like one of your real houses of quality where the walls are as thick as
whinstone-dikes, but foolish brick-work, that your pick-axes will work
through as if it were cheese. Huzza once more for Peveril of the Peak!
down with Bridgenorth, and all upstart cuckoldly Roundheads!"

Having indulged the throats of his followers with one buxom huzza, Lance
commanded them to cease their clamours, and proceeded to conduct them,
by such paths as seemed the least likely to be watched, to the courtyard
of Moultrassie Hall. On the road they were joined by several stout
yeoman farmers, either followers of the Peveril family, or friends to
the High Church and Cavalier party; most of whom, alarmed by the news
which began to fly fast through the neighbourhood, were armed with sword
and pistol.

Lance Outram halted his party, at the distance, as he himself described
it, of a flight-shot from the house, and advanced, alone, and in
silence, to reconnoitre; and having previously commanded Ditchley and
his subterranean allies to come to his assistance whenever he should
whistle, he crept cautiously forward, and soon found that those whom he
came to surprise, true to the discipline which had gained their party
such decided superiority during the Civil War, had posted a sentinel,
who paced through the courtyard, piously chanting a psalm-tune, while
his arms, crossed on his bosom, supported a gun of formidable length.

"Now, a true solder," said Lance Outram to himself, "would put a stop to
thy snivelling ditty, by making a broad arrow quiver in your heart, and
no great alarm given. But, dang it, I have not the right spirit for a
soldier--I cannot fight a man till my blood's up; and for shooting him
from behind a wall it is cruelly like to stalking a deer. I'll e'en face
him, and try what to make of him."

With this doughty resolution, and taking no farther care to conceal
himself, he entered the courtyard boldly, and was making forward to the
front door of the hall, as a matter of course. But the old Cromwellian,
who was on guard, had