, Mr. Lowe
superadded a caution to the dark lady down stairs, in the face of which
she, being quite reassured by this time, grinned and snapped her
fingers, and in terms defied, and even cursed the tall magistrate
without rising from the chair in which she had re-established herself in
the parlour. He mounted his hunter again, and followed the coach at a
pace which promised soon to bring him up with that lumbering conveyance;
for Mr. Lowe was one of those public officers who love their work, and
the tenant of the Brass Castle was no common prisoner, and well worth
seeing, though at some inconvenience, safely into his new lodging.

Next morning, you may be sure, the news was all over the town of
Chapelizod. All sorts of cross rumours and wild canards, of course, were
on the wind, and every new fact or fib borne to the door-step with the
fresh eggs, or the morning's milk and butter, was carried by the eager
servant into the parlour, and swallowed down with their toast and tea by
the staring company.

Upon one point all were agreed: Mr. Paul Dangerfield lay in the county
gaol, on a charge of having assaulted Dr. Sturk with intent to kill him.
The women blessed themselves, and turned pale. The men looked queer when
they met one another. It was altogether so astounding--Mr. Dangerfield
was so rich--so eminent--so moral--so charitable--so above temptation.
It had come out that he had committed, some said three, others as many
as fifteen secret murders. All the time that the neighbours had looked
on his white head in church as the very standard of probity, and all the
prudential virtues rewarded, they were admiring and honouring a masked
assassin. They had been bringing into their homes and families an
undivulged and terrible monster. The wher-wolf had walked the homely
streets of their village. The ghoul, unrecognised, had prowled among the
graves of their church-yard. One of their fairest princesses, the lady
of Belmont, had been on the point of being sacrificed to a vampire.
Horror, curiosity, and amazement, were everywhere.

Charles Nutter, it was rumoured, was to be discharged on bail early, and
it was mooted in the club that a deputation of the neighbours should
ride out to meet him at the boundaries of Chapelizod, welcome him there
with an address, and accompany him to the Mills as a guard of honour;
but cooler heads remembered the threatening and unsettled state of
things at that domicile, and thought that Nutter wou