he slow soft voice of the more precise of the
two witnesses. "Methinks I have seen him somewhere before. Is he from
these parts?"

"Not that I know of," said Bridlesley; who, like all the other
inhabitants of England at the time, answered the interrogatories of
these fellows with the deference which is paid in Spain to the questions
of an inquisitor. "A stranger--entirely a stranger--never saw him
before--a wild young colt, I warrant him; and knows a horse's mouth as
well as I do."

"I begin to bethink me I saw such a face as his at the Jesuits' consult,
in the White Horse Tavern," answered Everett.

"And I think I recollect," said Captain Dangerfield----

"Come, come, master and captain," said the authoritative voice of
Topham, "we will have none of your recollections at present. We all know
what these are likely to end in. But I will have you know, you are not
to run till the leash is slipped. The young man is a well-looking
lad, and gave up his horse handsomely for the service of the House of
Commons. He knows how to behave himself to his betters, I warrant you;
and I scarce think he has enough in his purse to pay the fees."

This speech concluded the dialogue, which Peveril, finding himself so
much concerned in the issue, thought it best to hear to an end. Now,
when it ceased, to get out of the town unobserved, and take the nearest
way to his father's castle, seemed his wisest plan. He had settled his
reckoning at the inn, and brought with him to Bridlesley's the small
portmanteau which contained his few necessaries, so that he had no
occasion to return thither. He resolved, therefore, to ride some miles
before he stopped, even for the purpose of feeding his horse; and being
pretty well acquainted with the country, he hoped to be able to push
forward to Martindale Castle sooner than the worshipful Master Topham;
whose saddle was, in the first place, to be padded, and who, when
mounted, would, in all probability, ride with the precaution of those
who require such security against the effects of a hard trot.

Under the influence of these feelings, Julian pushed for Warrington,
a place with which he was well acquainted; but, without halting in the
town, he crossed the Mersey, by the bridge built by an ancestor of his
friend the Earl of Derby, and continued his route towards Dishley, on
the borders of Derbyshire. He might have reached this latter village
easily, had his horse been fitter for a forced march; but in