f your head. I will
not subject you even to the inconvenience of having these fetters on
your wrists, though you were unfeeling enough to place them on a man,
the latchet of whose shoes you are unworthy to unloose. Be thankful
for the forebearance, and show that you know how to appreciate it.
Mark what I say. Remain where you are, nor venture to remove the
covering for half an hour. It will keep you warm. Return then to your
home, nor seek to discover either Holden or who rescued him, and be
assured he was not privy to the intention to release him. Remember,
remember. Eyes will be upon you. Good night!" So saying, the unknown
departed and left the stupefied constable like a statue, rooted to the
spot.

There he remained, not daring to stir or to remove the uncomfortable
head-dress--for by what unseen dangers he was surrounded he knew
not--until, as he supposed, the half hour was more than passed. Then
Basset cautiously and slowly raised his hand to his head, as if to
intimate that if any one were watching and wanted him to desist, he
was ready to do so, and hearing no sound, proceeded to divest himself
of the hood. He looked around but could see nothing; the falling snow
effectually shut out all objects from sight. He tried to move, but
stiff with cold his limbs refused their office, and he nearly
fell down. He took a step forward and his feet struck against the
handcuffs. He stooped down and picked them up, comforting himself with
the reflection, that bad as was his case, it might have been worse had
they been transferred to his wrists. He strove to peer into the fallen
snow, to discover, if possible, any tracks, but except his own just
made none were distinguishable. The snow had already obliterated them.
Faint and weary, and frozen, and vexed and frightened, the melancholy
Basset turned his face to the village, not among his cronies with bold
brow and loud voice to boast of his achievements, and by the aid of
John Barleycorn to screw his courage up to a fabulous pitch, but with
drooping crest and dejected spirits to slink to his bachelor's bed,
and dream of banditti all the night.

A sadder, if not a wiser man

"He rose the morrow morn."

Not a word spoke he the next day of his misadventure, until it having
been ascertained that Holden had not been at the workhouse, inquiry
was made respecting his non-appearance. The constable was then obliged
to confess the truth, which his captors, as if defying discovery,