little Cornish baronet who always fought fair.
"Let us be friends for ten minutes and talk like men of sense," said he.
"Cast your eye over this paper and tell me, for the love of Heaven, what
it means."

Sir John read it through and burst out laughing.

"The poor man has lost his head, hey? I guessed so," said Walpole.

"A reed shaken by the wind. As such he advertised an exhibition and the
folks came out to see--that is all. To be sure, they feel for this
Stephen as an ill-used man; and so for that matter do I."

"You were present. Tell me the whole story, if you will."

So Sir John told it and put it back into its true colours. "As for open
rebellion, I'll engage to set down what I've told you in a report which
shall be signed by every Justice between Truro and the Land's End."

"I don't need it," said Walpole. "But, when all's said, the fellow has
defied the law and slaughtered two men. We must make an example of him.
You agree, of course?"

"In due time I shall plead for mercy. But of course I agree."

"Well, then, what do you advise?"

"Wait."

"Hey?"

"He won't run. I--well, in fact, I could have shipped him off before this
happened, and tried to persuade him to go."

"The deuce you did!"

"Yes, but he refused. And he won't budge now. My advice is--wait, and
pick a strong sheriff for next year. There's a neighbour of Tillie's--
William Symons, of Hatt--you had best choose someone who doesn't belong to
our neighbourhood, for many reasons."

The minister nodded.

"Symons won't drop the business until he has pushed it through."

"I will make a note of his name."

So for four months Roger Stephen remained unmolested, Sir James Tillie
having received an answer from London requesting him to hold his hand.

And Sir John's counsel to the minister began to bear fruit even before the
new Sheriff took up the case. Until the day of the attack Roger's forces
had obeyed him cheerfully. They had volunteered to serve him, and put
themselves in jeopardy for his sake. His sense of gratitude had kept him
unusually amiable, and when a sullen fit took him his lieutenant
Trevarthen had served for an admirable buffer. Trevarthen was always
cheerful. But since Roger had tasted blood Trevarthen and Malachi agreed
that his temper had entirely changed. He was, in fact, mad; and daily
growing madder with confinement and brooding. What they saw was that his
temper could no longer be trusted. And