himself was likely to get into serious trouble; on the other, he was not going to see a young man, his own servant, a man, so far as he knew, innocent of all offence against the law, marched off in this way, if by any means he might be saved.  As mere remonstrances appeared to be of no avail, Hall hotly pressed his horse close up to Widdrington’s, completely barring his way, and demanded that, if he were really acting within the law, he should show his authority.

“This is my authority,” cried Widdrington, drawing his sword.

“We’ll soon prove whether that’s strong enough,” replied Hall, jumping from his horse and also drawing his weapon.  There was, as it chanced, close to the lane in which the two had been wrangling, a bit of nice level ground covered with short, crisp turf, and to this Hall quickly made his way, followed by Widdrington and by a crowd of people who had run up from the fair, attracted by the quarrel.  A very few minutes sufficed to prove that Widdrington’s “authority” was not strong enough.  He fought well enough for a time, it is true, and his opponent had need of all the skill he could command, but within five minutes Hall had caught Widdrington’s point in the big basket hilt of his sword, and with a sudden jerk had sent the weapon flying, leaving the disarmed man entirely at his mercy.  That was enough to satisfy Hall, who was too much of a man to push his advantage further.  But it by no means satisfied the surrounding crowd of country people.  By them these Widdringtons had long been feared and detested, and only the belief in the minds of those simple country folk that, in some mysterious way beyond their ken, the law was on the side of their oppressors, had on more than one occasion prevented an outbreak of popular fury.  Here, now, was one of the hated brood, proven to be in the wrong, and with no authority to arrest beyond that bestowed by bluster and brute force.  The air grew thick with groans and savage threats, and a clod flung by a boy gave the mob a lead.  In an instant sticks and stones began to fly.  Widdrington was unable to reach his sword or to get to his horse; there was nothing for it but to take to his heels, pursued by a crowd thirsting for his blood.  That was the last of the oppression of the Widdringtons; their horrible traffic in human beings was ended, and none of them ever again dared show their faces in that part of the country.

As for Hall, henceforward an angel of light could not have been more highly regarded, and his fate, a very few years later, brought grief on the county almost as universal as that felt for the Earl of Derwentwater himself.