ugh forseeing the difficulties in the
case. At luncheon the rector was to be sounded on the subject of
the allotments. But in the middle of their plans, they were
startled by the news that a magistrate's warrant had arrived in
the village for the arrest of Harry as a night poacher.

Tom returned to the Grange furious, and before night had had a
worse quarrel with young Wurley than with his uncle before him.
Had duelling been in fashion still in England, they would
probably have fought in a quiet corner of the park before night.
As it was they only said bitter things, and parted, agreeing not
to know one another in the future.

Three days afterwards, at petty sessions, where Tom brought upon
himself the severe censure of the bench for his conduct on the
trial, Harry Winburn was committed to Reading gaol for three
months.

Readers who will take the trouble to remember the picture of our
hero's mental growth during the past year, attempted to be given
in a late chapter, and the state of restless dissatisfaction into
which his experiences and thoughts and readings had thrown him by
the time long vacation had come around again, will perhaps be
prepared for the catastrophe which ensued on the conviction and
sentence of Harry Winburn at petty sessions.

Hitherto, notwithstanding the strength of the new and
revolutionary forces which were mustering round it, there had
always been a citadel holding out in his mind, garrisoned by all
that was best in the Toryism in which he had been brought up--by
loyalty, reverence for established order and established
institutions; by family traditions, and the pride of an inherited
good name. But now the walls of that citadel went down with a
crash, the garrison being put to the sword, or making away, to
hide in an out of the way corner, and wait for a reaction.

It was much easier for a youngster, whose attention was once
turned to such subjects as had been occupying Tom, to get hold of
wild and violent beliefs and notions in those days than now. The
state of Europe generally was far more dead and hopeless. There
were no wars, certainly, and no expectations of wars. But there
was a dull, beaten-down, pent-up feeling abroad, as if the lid
were screwed down on the nations, and the thing which had been,
however cruel and heavy and mean, was that which was to remain to
the end. England was better off than her neighbours, but yet in
bad case. In the south and west particularly, several cau