e Squire's saved!"
"Saved to-night--saved to glory!"

The Squire paused, still leaning on the Bryanite's arm. While the
procession swayed around him, he gazed across the gate as a man who
had lost his bearings. No glint of torchlight reached his cavernous
eyes; but the sight of Mr. Raymond's surpliced figure standing behind
Taff's shoulder in the full glare seemed to rouse him. He lifted a
fist and shook it slowly.

"Com'st along, sir!" urged the Bryanite. But the Squire stood
irresolute, muttering to himself.

"Com'st along, sir!"

"Lev' me be, I tell 'ee!" He laid both hands on the gate and spoke
across it to Mr. Raymond, his head nodding while his voice rose.

"D'ee hear what they say? I'm saved. I'm the Squire of this parish,
and I'm goin' to Heaven. I make no account of you and your church.
Old Satan's the fellow I'm after, and I'm going to have him out o'
this parish to-night or my name's not Squire Moyle."

"That's of it, Squire!" "Hunt 'en!" "Out with 'en!"

He turned on the crowd.

"Hunt 'en? Iss fay I will! Come along, boys--back to Tredinnis!
No, no"--this to the Bryanite--"we'll go back. I'll show 'ee sport--
we'll hunt th' old Divvle by scent and view to-night. I'm Squire
Moyle, ain't I? And I've a pack o' hounds, ha'n't I? Back, boys--
back, I tell 'ee!"

Lizzie Pezzack swung her torch. "Back--back to Tredinnis!" The
crowd took up the cry, "Back to Tredinnis!" The old man shook off
the Bryanite's hand, and as the procession wheeled and reformed
itself confusedly, rushed to the head of it, waving his hat--

"Back!--Back to Tredinnis!"

"God help them!" said Mr. Raymond; and taking Taffy by the arm, drew
him back into the church.

The shouting died away up the road. For three-quarters of an hour
father and son worked in silence. The reddened sky shed its glow
gently through the clear glass windows, suffusing the shadows beneath
the arched roof. And in the silence the lad wondered what was
happening up at Tredinnis.

Jim the Whip took oath afterward that it was no fault of his. He had
suspected three of the hounds for a day or two--Chorister, White Boy,
and Bellman--and had separated them from the pack. That very evening
he had done the same with Rifler, who was chewing at the straw in a
queer fashion and seemed quarrelsome. He had said nothing to the
Squire, whose temper had been ugly for a week past. He had hoped it
was a false alarm--had thought it better to wa