males who ran to meet him in the passage. He calmed the seeming alarm
of one by a brief palliative account of what had taken place; to the
other he said, "Go into the mill, Sarah--there is the key--and ring the
mill-bell as loud as you can. Afterwards you will get another lantern
and help me to light up the front."

Returning to his horses, he unharnessed, fed, and stabled them with
equal speed and care, pausing occasionally, while so occupied, as if to
listen for the mill-bell. It clanged out presently, with irregular but
loud and alarming din. The hurried, agitated peal seemed more urgent
than if the summons had been steadily given by a practised hand. On that
still night, at that unusual hour, it was heard a long way round. The
guests in the kitchen of the Redhouse were startled by the clamour, and
declaring that "there must be summat more nor common to do at Hollow's
Miln," they called for lanterns, and hurried to the spot in a body. And
scarcely had they thronged into the yard with their gleaming lights,
when the tramp of horses was heard, and a little man in a shovel hat,
sitting erect on the back of a shaggy pony, "rode lightly in," followed
by an aide-de-camp mounted on a larger steed.

Mr. Moore, meantime, after stabling his dray-horses, had saddled his
hackney, and with the aid of Sarah, the servant, lit up his mill, whose
wide and long front now glared one great illumination, throwing a
sufficient light on the yard to obviate all fear of confusion arising
from obscurity. Already a deep hum of voices became audible. Mr. Malone
had at length issued from the counting-house, previously taking the
precaution to dip his head and face in the stone water-jug; and this
precaution, together with the sudden alarm, had nearly restored to him
the possession of those senses which the punch had partially scattered.
He stood with his hat on the back of his head, and his shillelah grasped
in his dexter fist, answering much at random the questions of the
newly-arrived party from the Redhouse. Mr. Moore now appeared, and was
immediately confronted by the shovel hat and the shaggy pony.

"Well, Moore, what is your business with us? I thought you would want us
to-night--me and the hetman here (patting his pony's neck), and Tom and
his charger. When I heard your mill-bell I could sit still no longer, so
I left Boultby to finish his supper alone. But where is the enemy? I do
not see a mask or a smutted face present; and there is n