“That,” said Deaker, “is the only spirited thing I ever knew him to manage.  Is it true, Val, that he was found in her bedroom?”

“It is certainly true,” replied Val, with a smile of peculiar meaning; “and with her own consent too.”

“That’s false, Val,” replied Hartley; “and you know it.  That he was in her room for a couple of minutes is true; but that he was there for any purpose prejudicial to her honor, that is, with her own consent, is false.  The whole thing was a cowardly trick on the part of your son, concocted by the aid of old Poll Doolin, for the purpose of injuring the girl’s reputation.”

“Ay,” said old Deaker, “I dare say you are right, Hartley, if Poll Doolin was in it; but, d—­n her, she’s dangerous, even at a distance, if all that’s said of her be true.  I say, Spavin”—­this was a nickname given to the Foreman, in consequence of a slight halt or lameness for which he was remarkable—­“are we not to find bills for something, against Harman, who is about to be married to that wench.”

“What,” said Hartley, laughing, “is it on that account?  I think if you said so Deaker, you’d not be very far from the truth.”

“He murdered one of my fellows,” said M’Clutchy, “one of the staunchest Protestants and loyalest men that ever was in the country; and, what is more, he did it in cold blood.”

“You were not present,” said Hartley, “and consequently have no right to attempt to prejudice the minds of the jury against him.”

“We shall find the bills for all that,” said Spavin, “the interference of such fellows in the execution of the laws must be put a stop to.”

“You are right, Spavin,” said Sir William; “if we can’t hang him, let us send him across.  He had no business to touch the hair of a blood-hound’s head.  Gad, Hartley, this is pretty justice, isn’t it? why didn’t the disloyal rascal stand and let himself be shot in obedience to the spirit of the constitution, rather than molest a blood-hound.  I tell you, my good friends, that this method of managing things will bring about its own remedy yet.”

“Oh, Sir William, you and Hartley would run well in a chaise together—­both always for the rebels.”

“Whom do you call the rebels?”

“Why the Papists, to be sure.”

“No more rebels, Moore, than you are,” replied Hartley—­“I find a Papist as good as another man, if he’s as well and as fairly treated.”

“Irwin,” said a large gouty man, whose legs were wrapped in flannel, “of course you’ve heard of Sir William’s method of dispensing justice.  Will that too, sir, find its own remedy--eh? ha, ha, ha; d------e, it’s the most novel thing going.”

“No—­how is it, Anderson?”

“Why, if two neighbors chance to fall out, or have a quarrel, and if it happens also that they come to take the law of one another, as they call it, what does the worthy baronet do, do you imagine?  ’Well, my good fellow,’ proceeds our justice, ‘you want to take the law of this man?’