Reilly involved them.  Sir Robert, however, very deliberately brought up his cars and other vehicles, and having dragged out all the most valuable part of the furniture, piled it up, and had it conveyed to his own outhouses, where it was carefully-stowed.  This act, however, excited comparatively little attention, for such outrages were not unfrequently committed by those who had, or at least who thought they had; the law in their own hands.  It was now dusk, and the house had been gutted of all that had been most valuable in it—­but the most brilliant part of the performance was yet to come.  We mean no contemptible pun.  The young man’s dwelling-house, and office-houses were ignited at this moment by this man’s military and other official minions, and in about twenty minutes they were all wrapped in one red, merciless mass of flame.  The country people, on observing this fearful conflagration, flocked from all quarters; but a cordon of outposts was stationed at some distance around the premises, to prevent the peasantry from marking the chief actors in this nefarious outrage.  Two gentlemen, however, approached, who, having given their names, were at once admitted to the burning premises.  These were Mr. Brown, the clergyman, and Mr. Hastings, the actual and legal proprietor of all that had been considered Reilly’s property.  Both of them observed that Sir Robert was the busiest man among them, and upon making inquiries from the party, they were informed that they acted by his orders, and that, moreover, he was himself the very first individual who had set fire to the premises.  The clergyman made his way to Sir Robert, on whose villainous countenance he could read a dark and diabolical triumph.

“Sir Robert Whitecraft,” said Mr. Brown, “how conies such a wanton and unnecessary waste of property?”

“Because, sir,” replied that gentleman, “it is the property of a popish rebel and outlaw, and is confiscated to the State.”

“But do you possess authority for this conduct?—­Are you the State?”

“In the spirit of our Protestant Constitution, certainly.  I am a loyal Protestant magistrate, and a man of rank, and will hold myself accountable for what I do and have done.  Come you, there,” he added, “who have knocked down the pump, take some straw, light it up, and put it with pitchforks upon the lower end of the stable; it has not yet caught the flames.”

This order was accordingly complied with, and in a few minutes the scene, if one could dissociate the mind from the hellish spirit which created it, had something terribly sublime in it.

Mr. Hastings, the gentleman who accompanied the clergyman, the real owner of the property, looked on with apparent indifference, but uttered not a word.  Indeed, he seemed rather to enjoy the novelty of the thing than otherwise, and passed with Mr. Brown from place to place, as if to obtain the best points for viewing the fire.