An increasing noise at the door of the house broke in upon what Laura was saying.  There were cries, and loud tongues, and vociferations of many kinds; among which, one voice was heard, exclaiming, “Go round to the back door!”

Another person, apparently just under the window, shouted, “I am very sure that was not the man!” and then added, “Bring out my horse, however, bring out my horse!  I’ll catch them, and raise the hue and cry as I go!”

At the same time there were other voices speaking in the passage, and one loud sonorous tongue exclaiming, “Ali, Master Wicks, Master Wicks!  I thought you would get yourself into a scrape one of these days, Master Wicks;” to which the low deep voice of the landlord was heard, replying—­

“I have got myself into no scrape, your reverence.  I don’t know what you mean or what you wait.—­Search?  You may search any part of the house you like.  I don’t care!  If there were twenty people here, I have nothing to do with it.  I can’t refuse gentlemen to put up their horses, or to give them a bowl of punch, or a mug of ale.  There, sir, there’s a gentleman and lady in that parlour.  Pray, sir, walk in, and see whether they are Jacobites or smugglers or what riots.”

As these words sounded close to them, Lady Laura sunk down again into her chair; and Wilton, drawing a little back, hesitated, for a moment, whether he should go out himself and notice what was taking place, or not.  The question, however, was decided for him by the door of the room being thrown suddenly open, and the rotund person of the clergyman of the parish, bearing, in the “fair round belly with fat capon lined,” the sign and symbol affixed by Shakspeare to the “Justice of Peace,” entered the apartment.  He gazed with some surprise upon two persons, who, notwithstanding some slight disarray in their apparel from all the events which had lately taken place, still bore the appearance of belonging to the highest class of society.

The reverend justice had entered the room with a look of pompous importance, which was diminished, but not entirely done away, by evident surprise at the appearance of Laura and Wilton.  The young gentleman, however, was not particularly well pleased with the interruption, and still less with this domineering air, which he hastened to extinguish as fast as possible.

“Pray, sir, what do you want?” he demanded, addressing the magistrate, “and who are you?”

“Nay, sir,” answered the reverend gentleman, “what I want is, to know who you are.  I have here information that there is in this house a notorious Jacobite malefactor, returned from beyond seas, contrary to law, named Sir George Barkley.  I am a magistrate for the county, sir, and I have information, I say.”

“Upon oath, sir?” demanded Wilton.

“No, sir, not upon oath, not upon oath,” replied the clergyman, “but what is quite as good, upon the word of a Messenger of State, sir—­of Mr. Arden, the Council Messenger, sir.”