m especially, a clergyman named Leyton, who had
given his evidence more positively, more clearly, than all the others.
Oh, that he could do that man some injury--but for him his father would
not have been identified and convicted.

Suddenly a thought occurred to him, his eyes sparkled with fierce
delight. "I know where he lives," he said to himself; "he has the farm
and parsonage of Millwood. I will go there at once--it is almost dark
already. I will do as I have heard father say he once did to the squire.
I will set his barns and his house on fire. Yes, yes, he shall burn for
it--he shall get no more fathers transported."

To procure a box of matches was an easy task, and that was all the
preparation the boy made.

The autumn was far advanced. A cold wind was beginning to moan among the
almost leafless trees, and George West's teeth chattered, and his
ill-clad limbs grew numb as he walked along the fields leading to
Millwood. "Lucky it's a dark night; this fine wind will fan the flame
nicely," he repeated to himself.

The clock was striking nine, but all was quiet as midnight; not a soul
stirring, not a light in the parsonage windows that he could see. He
dared not open the gate, lest the click of the latch should betray him,
so he softly climbed over; but scarcely had he dropped on the other side
of the wall before the loud barking of a dog startled him. He cowered
down behind the hay-rick, scarcely daring to breathe, expecting each
instant that the dog would spring upon him. It was some time before the
boy dared to stir, and as his courage cooled, his thirst for revenge
somewhat subsided also, till he almost determined to return to
Lamborough, but he was too tired, too cold, too hungry--besides, the
woman would beat him for staying out so late. What could he do? where
should he go? and as the sense of his lonely and forlorn position
returned, so did also the affectionate remembrance of his father, his
hatred of his accusers, his desire to satisfy his vengeance; and once
more, courageous through anger, he rose, took the box from his pocket,
and boldly drew one of them across the sand-paper. It flamed; he stuck
it hastily in the stack against which he rested--it only flickered a
little, and went out. In great trepidation, young West once more grasped
the whole of the remaining matches in his hand and ignited them, but at
the same instant the dog barked. He hears the gate open, a step is close
to him, the matches ar