“But you won’t forget the magistracy, Sir Thomas?  A’m dreaming of it every night.  A’ think that a’m seated upon a bench with five or six other magistrates along with me, and you can’t imagine the satisfaction I feel in sending those poor vermin that are going about in a state of disloyalty and starvation to the stocks or the jail.  Oh, authority is a delightful thing, Sir Thomas, especially when a man can exercise it upon the vile rubbish that constitutes the pauper population of the country.  You know, if a’ were a magistrate, Sir Thomas, a’ would fine every one—­as well as my own tenants, whom I do fine—­that did not take off their hat or make me a courtesy.”

“And if you were to do so, Crackenfudge,” replied the baronet, with a grim, sardonic smile, or rather a sneer, “I assure you, that such a measure would become a very general and heavy impost upon the country.  But goodby, now; I shall remember your wishes as touching the magistracy.  You shall have J. P. after your name, and be at liberty to fine, flog, put in the stocks, and send to prison as many of the rubbish you speak of as you wish.”

“That will be delightful, Sir Thomas.  A’ll then make many a vagabond that despises and laughs at me suffer.”

“In that case, the country at large will suffer heavily; for to tell you the truth, Crackenfudge, you are anything but a favorite.  Goodby, now, I must see my daughter.”  And so he nodded the embryo magistrate out.

After the latter had taken his departure, Sir Thomas rubbed his hands, with a strong turbid gleam of ferocious satisfaction, that evidently resulted from the communication that Crackenfudge had made to him.

“It can be no other,” thought he; “his allusion to the establishment of Grinwell is a strong presumptive proof that it is; but he must be secured forthwith, and that with all secrecy and dispatch, taking it always for granted that he is the fugitive for whom we have been seeking so long.  One point, however, in our favor is, that as he knows neither his real name nor origin, nor even the hand which guided his destiny, he can make no discovery of which I may feel apprehensive.  Still it is dangerous that he should be at large, for it is impossible to say what contingency might happen—­what chance would, or perhaps early recollection might, like a spark of light to a train, blow up in a moment the precaution of years.  As to the fellow in the inn, the account of him may be true enough, for unquestionably Grinwell, who kept the asylum, had a brother in the tooth-brush business, and this fact gives the story something like probability, as does the mystery with which this man wraps himself so closely.  In the meantime, if he be a clerk, he is certainly an impostor of the most consummate art, for assuredly so gentlemanly a scoundrel I have never yet come in contact with.  But, good heavens! if such a report should have gone abroad concerning that stiff-necked and obstinate girl, her reputation and prospects in life are ruined