“In the meantime you shall have no assistance from me, Harry; and it ill becomes your mother’s son—­the woman whose cruelty to the family made him what he is—­to attempt to hunt him down.  On the contrary, I tell you as a friend to let him pass; the young man is desperate, and his vengeance, or that of his followers, may come on you when you least expect it.  It is not his death that will secure you.  If he dies through your means, he will leave those behind him who will afford you but short space to settle your last account.”

“Be the consequences what they may,” replied Woodward, “either he or I shall fall.”

He left the room after expressing this determination, and his step-father said,—­

“I’m afraid, Maria, we don’t properly understand Master Harry.  I am much troubled by what has occurred just now.  I fear he is a hypocrite in morals, and without a single atom of honorable principle.  Did you observe the expression of his face?  Curse me if I think the devil himself has so bad a one.  Besides, I have heard something about him that I don’t like—­something which I am not going to mention to you; but I say that in future we must beware of him.”

“I was sorry, papa, to see the expression of his face,” replied Maria; “it was fearful; and above all things the expression of his eye.  It made me feel weak whenever he turned it on me.”

“Egad, and it had something of the same effect on myself,” replied her father.  “There is some damned expression in it that takes away one’s strength.  Well,” as I said, “we must beware of him.”

Woodward’s next step was to pay a visit to Lord Cockletown, who, as he had gained his title in consequence of his success in tory-hunting, and capturing the most troublesome and distinguished outlaws of that day, was, he thought, the best and most experienced person to whom he could apply for information as to the most successful means of accomplishing his object.  He accordingly waited on his lordship, to whom he thought, very naturally, that this exploit would recommend him.  His lordship was in the garden, where Woodward found him in hobnailed shoes, digging himself into what he called his daily perspirations.

“Don’t be surprised, Mr. Woodward,” said he, “at my employment; I am taking my every-day sweat, because I feel that I could not drink as I do and get on without it.  Well, what do you want with me?  Is it anything about Tom?  Egad, Tom says she rather likes you than otherwise; and if you can satisfy me as to property settlements, and all that, I won’t stand in your way; but, in the meantime, what do you want with me now?  If it’s Tom’s affair, the state of your property comes first.”

“No, my lord, I shall leave all dealings of business between you and my mother.  This is a different affair, and one on which I wish to have your lordship’s advice and direction.”

“Ay, but what is it?  Confound it, come to the point.”