“And I the former,” observed Sir Robert.

“Well, Bob, that is as may happen; but in the meantime, I say he never robbed the sheriff here; and if he were going to the gallows to-morrow, I would maintain it.”

Neither the clergyman nor Mr. Hastings took much part in the conversation; but the eye of the latter was, during the greater portion of the evening, fixed upon the baronet, like that of a basilisk, accompanied by a hidden meaning, which it was impossible to penetrate, but which, nevertheless, had such an effect upon Whitecraft that he could not help observing it.

“It would seem, Mr. Hastings,” said he, “as if you had never seen me before.  Your eye has scarcely been off me during the whole evening.  It is not pleasant, sir, nor scarcely gentlemanly.”

“You should feel proud of it, Sir Robert,” replied Hastings; “I only admire you.”

“Well, then, I wish you would express your admiration in some other manner than by staring at me.”

“Gadzooks, Sir Robert,” said the squire, “don’t you know that a cat may look at a king?  Hastings must be a man of devilish good taste, Bob, and you ought to thank him.”

Mr. Brown and Mr. Hastings soon afterwards went upstairs, and left the other gentlemen to their liquor, which they now began to enjoy with a more convivial spirit.  The old squire’s loyalty rose to a very high pitch, as indeed did that of his companions, all of whom entertained the same principles, with the exception of Lord Deilmacare, whose opinions never could be got at, for thee very sufficient reason that he did not know them himself.

“Come, Whitecraft,” said the squire, “help yourself, and push the bottle; now that those two half-Papists are gone, we can breathe and speak a little more freely.  Here’s our glorious Constitution, in Church and State, and curse all priests and Papists—­barring a few, that I know to be honest.”

“I drink it, but I omit the exception,” said Sir Robert, “and I wonder, sir, you would make any exception to such a toast.”

“I drink it,” said Smellpriest, “including the rascal priest.”

“And I drink it,” said the sheriff, “as it has been proposed.”

“What was it?” said Lord Deilmacare; “come, I drink it—­it doesn’t matter.  I suppose, coming from our excellent host, it must be right and proper.”

They caroused deeply, and in proportion as the liquor affected their brains, so did their determination to rid the squire of the rebel Reilly form itself into an express resolution to that effect.

“Hang Reilly—­hang the villain—­the gallows for him—­hurra!” and in this charitable sentiment their voices all joined in a fierce and drunken exclamation, uttered with their hands all clasped in each other with a strong and firm grip.  From one mouth alone, however, proceeded, amidst a succession of hiccups, the word “transportation,” which, when Lord Deilmacare heard, he changed his principle, and joined the old squire in the same mitigation of feeling.