The prisoners were listening anxiously to the evidence which the principal game-keeper was offering against them.  The first, a man about sixty, excited greater interest than the others.  He earnestly attended to what was going on, but gave no sign of fear, as to the result.  Brushing back his gray locks, he gazed round the court, with something like a smile.  This man’s life had been a strange one.  Early in his career he had been ejected from a farm which he had held under the father of the present prosecutor, Sir George Roberts; he soon after lost what little property had been left him, and, in despair enlisted—­was sent abroad with his regiment—­and for many years shared in the toils and achievements of our East Indian warfare.  Returning home on a small pension, he fixed his abode in his native village, and sought to indulge his old enmity against the family that had injured him by every kind of annoyance in his power.  The present baronet, a narrow-minded tyrannical man, afforded by his unpopularity good opportunity to old Ralph Somers to induce others to join him in his schemes of mischief and revenge.  “The game,” which was plentiful on the estate, and the preservation of which was Sir George’s chief delight, formed the principal object of attack; the poverty of the laborers tempted them to follow the old soldier, who managed affairs so warily, that for nine years he had been an object of the utmost terror and hatred to Sir George and his keepers, whilst all their efforts to detect and capture him had, until now, been fruitless.

Martin Harvey, who stood by his side with his shattered arm in a sling, bore marks of acute mental suffering and remorse; but his countenance was stamped with its original, open, manly expression—­a face often to be seen among a group of English farm laborers, expressive of a warm heart, full of both courage and kindness.

The evidence was soon given.  The game-keepers, on the night of the 24th of February, were apprised that poachers were in the plantations.  Taking with them a stronger force than usual, all well-armed, they discovered the objects of their search, in a lane leading out into the fields, and shouted to them to surrender.  They distinctly saw their figures flying before them, and when they approached them, one of the fugitives turned round and fired, wounding one of the keepers’ legs with a quantity of small shot.  The keeper immediately fired in return, and brought down a poacher; old Ralph’s voice was heard shouting to them to desist, and upon coming up they found him standing by the side of Martin Harvey, who had fallen severely wounded.  Three guns lay by them, one of which had been discharged, but no one could swear who had fired it; search was made all night for the other man, but without success.