ction I must exert my authority as
sheriff and chief magistrate of police to order the whole, or greater
part of them, back again. I regret much that by my accidental absence a
good deal of delay has already taken place, and we shall not now reach
Portanferry until it is late.'

As Mr. Mac-Morlan was the superior magistrate, and expressed himself
peremptory in the purpose of acting as such, the Baronet, though highly
offended, could only say, 'Very well, sir; it is very well. Nay, sir,
take them all with you; I am far from desiring any to be left here, sir.
We, sir, can protect ourselves, sir. But you will have the goodness to
observe, sir, that you are acting on your own proper risk, sir, and
peril, sir, and responsibility, sir, if anything shall happen or befall
to Hazlewood House, sir, or the inhabitants, sir, or to the furniture and
paintings, sir.'

'I am acting to the best of my judgment and information, Sir Robert,'
said Mac-Morlan, 'and I must pray of you to believe so, and to pardon me
accordingly. I beg you to observe it is no time for ceremony; it is
already very late.'

But Sir Robert, without deigning to listen to his apologies, immediately
employed himself with much parade in arming and arraying his domestics.
Charles Hazlewood longed to accompany the military, which were about to
depart for Portanferry, and which were now drawn up and mounted by
direction and under the guidance of Mr. Mac-Morlan, as the civil
magistrate. But it would have given just pain and offence to his father
to have left him at a moment when he conceived himself and his
mansion-house in danger. Young Hazlewood therefore gazed from a window
with suppressed regret and displeasure, until he heard the officer give
the word of command--'From the right to the front, by files, m-a-rch.
Leading file, to the right wheel. Trot.' The whole party of soldiers then
getting into a sharp and uniform pace, were soon lost among the trees,
and the noise of the hoofs died speedily away in the distance.

CHAPTER XIX
Wi' coulters and wi' forehammers
We garr'd the bars bang merrily,
Until we came to the inner prison,
Where Willie o' Kinmont he did lie.

Old Border Ballad.

We return to Portanferry, and to Bertram and his honest-hearted friend,
whom we left most innocent inhabitants of a place built for the guilty.
The slumbers of the farmer were as sound as it was possible.

But Bertram's first heavy slee