“King of the Peak,” cried the officer of the law, “hold up thine hand.  Thou art accused of the murder of Mary Durden, spinster.  Art thou guilty or art thou not guilty?”

Instinctively he held up his hand as directed, and in a bold and fearless voice which echoed along the passages answered, “Not guilty.”

As soon as he had uttered the words he remembered that he had done wrong, but it was too late to recall it now, and filled with no pleasant forebodings by learning that the one who had just stepped out of the place in which he had stood had been committed to the Tower, he watched the swearing-in of the jury with stolid indifference.

It was soon evident that something was wrong somewhere.  The minions of the court rushed hither and thither in the utmost haste; messages passed from the Judge to the clerks who sat at the table below; and by-and-bye the fact leaked out that neither the prosecutor nor the witnesses were in attendance.

“Nathan Grene,” called the clerk, “stand forth.”  There was no answer.

“Nathan Grene,” he repeated in a louder voice, “come forward and accuse this man.”

The cry was taken up both inside the hall and without; but still no Nathan Grene appeared, nor was he likely to, for at that time he was sitting securely in the stocks; the sport of every passer-by, and the delight of some little mischievous urchins, who were amusing themselves by pulling his hair and sprinkling him with dirty water, while he was powerless to defend himself in any way.

“Nathan Grene,” exclaimed the Judge in tones of awful dignity, “you are called upon to support the charge of murder against the King of the Peak; a charge made by yourself.  This is the last time thou wilt be summoned to answer, and unless you now appear, or afterwards show good, full, and sufficient cause for thine absence, the law shall turn its course on thee.”

The long silence which followed this speech was broken only by the Judge, who rose again from his seat, and turning to Sir George told him he was free; and amid the congratulations of his friends and the concealed disappointment of his enemies, he passed triumphantly out of the hall which had proved so fatal to so many of the nobility before him, as it has also done since.

CHAPTER XVI.

A night adventure.

But whatsoe’er his crime, than such a cave
A worse imprisonment he could not have.
* * * * *
But here a roaring torrent bids you stand. 
Forcing you climb a rock on the right hand,
Which, hanging penthouse-like, does overlook
The dreadful channel of the rapid brook. 
Over this dangerous precipice you crawl,
Lost if you slip, for if you slip you fall.

Wonders of the Peak, 1725.

Elated by their success, the two noblemen at once left London and hastened on towards Haddon, and leaving the city behind them with few regrets, they arrived at Derby late in the afternoon of the day following the trial.