“I am ready to answer, my lord,” I replied, “if he asks me nought beyond my knowledge, or beyond my honour.”

“Hadst better answer me everything, lump.  What hast thou to do with honour?  Now is there in thy neighbourhood a certain nest of robbers, miscreants, and outlaws, whom all men fear to handle?”

“Yes, my lord.  At least, I believe some of them be robbers, and all of them are outlaws.”

“And what is your high sheriff about, that he doth not hang them all?  Or send them up for me to hang, without more to do about them?”

“I reckon that he is afraid, my lord; it is not safe to meddle with them.  They are of good birth, and reckless; and their place is very strong.”

“Good birth!  What was Lord Russell of, Lord Essex, and this Sidney?  ’Tis the surest heirship to the block to be the chip of a good one.  What is the name of this pestilent race, and how many of them are there?”

“They are the Doones of Bagworthy forest, may it please your worship.  And we reckon there be about forty of them, beside the women and children.”

“Forty Doones, all forty thieves! and women and children!  Thunder of God!  How long have they been there then?”

“They may have been there thirty years, my lord; and indeed they may have been forty.  Before the great war broke out they came, longer back than I can remember.”

“Ay, long before thou wast born, John.  Good, thou speakest plainly.  Woe betide a liar, whenso I get hold of him.  Ye want me on the Western Circuit; by God, and ye shall have me, when London traitors are spun and swung.  There is a family called De Whichehalse living very nigh thee, John?”

This he said in a sudden manner, as if to take me off my guard, and fixed his great thick eyes on me.  And in truth I was much astonished.

“Yes, my lord, there is.  At least, not so very far from us.  Baron de Whichehalse, of Ley Manor.”

“Baron, ha! of the Exchequer—­eh, lad?  And taketh dues instead of His Majesty.  Somewhat which halts there ought to come a little further, I trow.  It shall be seen to, as well as the witch which makes it so to halt.  Riotous knaves in West England, drunken outlaws, you shall dance, if ever I play pipe for you.  John Ridd, I will come to Oare parish, and rout out the Oare of Babylon.”

“Although your worship is so learned,” I answered seeing that now he was beginning to make things uneasy; “your worship, though being Chief Justice, does little justice to us.  We are downright good and loyal folk; and I have not seen, since here I came to this great town of London, any who may better us, or even come anigh us, in honesty, and goodness, and duty to our neighbours.  For we are very quiet folk, not prating our own virtues—­”

“Enough, good John, enough!  Knowest thou not that modesty is the maidenhood of virtue, lost even by her own approval?  Now hast thou ever heard or thought that De Whichehalse is in league with the Doones of Bagworthy?”