“It is so.  That is a melancholy truth; but you address me, Sir Francis Varney, as if I led on the mob, when in reality I have done all that lay in my power, from the very first moment of their rising on account of this affair, which, in the first instance, was your work, to prevent them from proceeding to acts of violence.”—­“It may be so; but if you have now any regard for your own safety you will quit this place.  It will too soon become the scene of a bloody contention.  A large party of dragoons are even now by another route coming towards it, and it will be their duty to resist the aggressions of the mob; then should the rioters persevere, you can guess the result.”—­“I can, indeed.”

“Retire then while you may, and against the bad deeds of Sir Francis Varney at all events place some of his good ones, that he may not seem wholly without one redeeming trait.”—­“I am not accustomed,” said the doctor, “to paint the devil blacker than he really is; but yet the cruel persecutions that the Bannerworth family have endured call aloud for justice.  You still, with a perseverance which shows you regardless of what others suffer so that you compass your own ends, hover round a spot which you have rendered desolate.”

“Hark, sir; do you not hear the tramp of horses’ feet?”—­“I do.”

The noise made by the feet of the insurgents was now almost drowned in the louder and more rapid tramp of the horses’ feet of the advancing dragoons, and, in a few moments more, Sir Francis Varney waved his arm, exclaiming,—­

“They are here.  Will you not consult your safety by flight?”—­“No,” said Mr. Chillingworth’s companion; “we prefer remaining here at the risk even of whatever danger may accrue to us.”

“Fools, would you die in a chance melee between an infuriated populace and soldiery?”—­“Do not leave,” whispered the ex-hangman to Mr. Chillingworth; “do not leave, I pray you.  He only wants to have the Hall to himself.”

There could be no doubt now of the immediate appearance of the cavalry, and, before Sir Francis Varney could utter another word, a couple of the foremost of the soldiers cleared the garden fence at a part where it was low, and alighted not many feet from the summer-house in which this short colloquy was taking place.  Sir Francis Varney uttered a bitter oath, and immediately disappeared in the gloom.

“What shall we do?” said the hangman.—­“You can do what you like, but I shall avow my presence to the military, and claim to be on their side in the approaching contest, if it should come to one, which I sincerely hope it will not.”

The military detachment consisted of about twenty-five dragoons, who now were all in the gardens.  An order was given by the officer in command for them to dismount, which was at once obeyed, and the horses were fastened by their bridles to the various trees with which the place abounded.

“They are going to oppose the mob on foot, with their carbines,” said the hangman; “there will be sad work here I am afraid.”—­“Well, at all events,” said Mr. Chillingworth, “I shall decline acting the part of a spy here any longer; so here goes.”