I'll make you give an account of
this here d--ned, horrid, confounded murder, d'ye see--mayhap you
yourself was concerned, d'ye see.--For my own part, brother, I put my
trust in God, and steer by the compass, and I value not your paw-wawing
and your conjuration of a rope's end, d'ye see."

The conjurer was by no means pleased, either with the matter or the
manner of this address. He therefore began to soothe the captain's
choler, by representing that he did not pretend to omniscience, which was
the attribute of God alone; that human art was fallible and imperfect;
and all that it could perform was to discover certain partial
circumstances of any particular object to which its inquiries were
directed. That being questioned by the other man concerning the cause of
his master's disappearing, he had exercised his skill upon the subject,
and found reason to believe that Sir Launcelot was assassinated; that he
should think himself happy in being the instrument of bringing the
murderers to justice, though he foresaw they would of themselves save him
that trouble; for they would quarrel about dividing the spoil, and one
would give information against the other.

The prospect of this satisfaction appeased the resentment, and, in some
measure, mitigated the grief of Captain Crowe, who took his leave without
much ceremony; and, being joined by Crabshaw, proceeded with a heavy
heart to the house of Sir Launcelot, where they found the domestics at
breakfast, without exhibiting the least symptom of concern for their
absent master. Crowe had been wise enough to conceal from Crabshaw what
he had learned of the knight's fate. This fatal intelligence he reserved
for the ear of his nephew, Mr. Clarke, who did not fail to attend him in
the forenoon.

As for the squire, he did nothing but ruminate in rueful silence upon the
dappled gelding, the nosegay, and the predicted fate of Gilbert. Him he
forthwith visited in the stable, and saluted with the kiss of peace.
Then he bemoaned his fortune with tears, and by the sound of his own
lamentation was lulled asleep among the litter.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

IN WHICH THE CLOUDS THAT COVER THE CATASTROPHE BEGIN TO DISPERSE.

We must now leave Captain Crowe and his nephew Mr. Clarke, arguing with
great vehemence about the fatal intelligence obtained from the conjurer,
and penetrate at once the veil that concealed our hero. Know then,
reader, that Sir Launcelot Greaves, repairing to