villain—­need I say more? ruin and desolation followed—­no one knew what had become of her.  The brother had been kidnapped by a press-gang, but of course the Earl knew nothing of that; he was now, however, supposed to be lurking in the neighborhood.  The Earl had received a letter in which the brother’s heart had been poured out in bitterness; he had injured, therefore he could not forgive.  Not so, however, Mrs. Alice; she did not fear the lord one jot, and folks did say, she knew more about him than he would like told; be that as it may, she loudly protested against its being placed there at all; and was still indignantly haranguing; now crying shame upon his lordship; now bewailing poor Ellen, who had been a great favorite of hers, when her eccentric nephew entered; he looked dusty and fatigued, but there was a strange smile upon his lips as he looked at the agent.  Without saying a word he walked straight up to the agent, and taking the paper from his hand procured a hammer and some tacks and nailed it up in the most conspicuous place in the bar, displacing some of his aunt’s ornaments in so doing; then drinking a mug of ale, he threw himself along a bench and was or seemed to be sound asleep.

‘Dash ma wig,’ said the farmer, who had before spoken, ’that dangs all, the boy be daft and Mrs. Ally doant say nuthen—­he be queer for sartain.’

Mrs. Ally said not a word, but gazed on her nephew with mute astonishment; she did not, however, attempt to remove the obnoxious paper.  The agent having in this unexpected manner gained his point, called for wine and sat down with the curate, lawyer, etc.  He had yet another object—­to find Curly Tom, no easy matter, that worthy being by no means a welcome guest there; that he did come there sometimes, however, Lambert knew, for as long as no warrant was out against him, however bad his character, he could not be turned away from the inn when he paid his shot; he did not like openly to ask for such a character, but sat down trusting that when the ale made the farmers loquacious he should gain some clue to his whereabouts.  Fortune seemed destined to be his friend in more than one way that evening.  The sound of a pistol shot was heard in the road leading towards the seaport, which was some ten miles distant; and a few moments after, a burly seafaring man entered the tap-room, dragging after him, in his powerful grasp, a ruffianly ill-looking countryman; no other indeed than the man of all others Lambert wished most to see, viz:  Curly Tom.

‘Cast your anchor there,’ said the seaman, ’and if you attempt to slip moorings, afore you’ve been over-hauled by the skipper, split my topsails but I’ll bring you up all standing with this barking iron,’ pressing the muzzle of a pistol to the fellow’s forehead.

‘Put up your pistol,’ said the fellow sullenly.  ’I beant going to run; you’ve broke my head and dinged all the wind oot of ma body.’

‘What is the matter, my good man?’ said Mr. Lambert, coming forward.  ’I am a magistrate, and can take your deposition.’