“Welcome! welcome! to your own place, Mrs. Margaret Dymock!” said one of them, “and here,” he added, dipping a cup into the pail, “I drink to the restoration of the rightful heir and the good old family, and to your house-keeping, Mrs. Margaret; for things are done now in another style to what they were in your time.”

A general shout seconded this sentiment, and Mrs. Margaret, curtseying, and then pluming herself, answered, “I thank you, my friends, and flatter myself, that had my power been equal to my will, no hungry person should ever have departed from Dymock’s Tower.”

The ladies were then obliged to stand and hear the whole history of the night’s exploit,—­told almost in as many ways as there were tongues to tell it; and whilst these relations were going forward, the sun had fairly risen above the horizon, and was gilding the jagged battlements of the Tower.

Shanty was not with the party in the court, but he suddenly appeared in the door-way of the Tower.  He seemed in haste and high excitement, and was about to call to any one who would hear him first, when his eye fell on Tamar and Mrs. Margaret.  “Oh, there you are,” he said; “I was looking for one of swift foot to bring you here.  Come up this moment; you are required to be present at the confession of the gipsy wife, who is now willing to tell all, on condition that we give her her liberty.  Whether this can be allowed or not, we doubt; though she did not make herself busy with the rest, but was caught as she tried to escape by the knoll.”

“Oh! spare her, if possible,” said Tamar, “or let her escape, if you can do nothing else to save her; I beseech you spare her!” Shanty made no reply, but led the way to an upper room of the Tower, which had in old time, when there were any stores to keep, (a case which had not occurred for some years,) been occupied as a strong-hold for groceries, and other articles of the same description; and there, besides the prisoner, who stood sullenly leaning against the wall, with her arms folded, sat Dymock and Salmon,—­the Laird looking all importance, his lips being compressed and his arms folded,—­and old Salmon, being little better in appearance than a caput mortuum, so entirely was the poor creature overpowered by the rapid changes in the scenes which were enacting before him.

Shanty had met Rebecca running down the stairs as he was bringing up Mrs. Margaret, and he had seized her and brought her in, saying, “Now old lady, as we are coming to a clearance, it might be just as well to burn out your dross among the rest; or may be,” he added, “you may perhaps answer to the lumps of lime-stone in the furnace, not of much good in yourself, but of some service to help the smelting of that which is better,—­so come along, old lady; my mind misgives me, that you have had more to do in making up this queer affair than you would have it supposed.”  The more Rebecca resisted, the more determined was Shanty; neither did he quit his hold of the old woman, until the whole party had entered the room, the door being shut, and his back set against it, where he kept his place, like a bar of iron in a stanchion.