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They paused for a moment, going out, to look at them clasped in each other's arms, and then left the cottage; fastening the door, and setting a good watch upon it, and indeed all round the house. 'I say, growled Dennis, as they walked away in company, 'that's a dainty pair. Muster Gashford's one is as handsome as the other, eh? 'Hush! said Hugh, hastily. 'Don't you mention names.
Both he and Sir John being well known to the populace, they fell back a little, and left the four standing together. 'Mr Haredale, Lord George, said Sir John Chester, seeing that the nobleman regarded him with an inquisitive look. 'A Catholic gentleman unfortunately most unhappily a Catholic but an esteemed acquaintance of mine, and once of Mr Gashford's.
Flinders addressed himself at once to the subject of his mission, and became quite eloquent as he touched on the grandeur of the sum offered, the liberality of the offerers, and the ease with which the whole thing might be accomplished. A very faint smile rested on Gashford's face as he proceeded, but by no other sign did he betray his thoughts until his petitioner had concluded.
Shut up your tatie-trap, now, an' be off to Muster Gashford's hut for he towld me to sind you there widout delay." This seemed to satisfy the man, who at once went away, leaving Flinders on guard. Without a moment's loss of time Paddy made use of the key and entered the prison.
'Is that all? said the secretary, turning his face homewards. 'Well! I think this looks a little more like business! Promising as these outrages were to Gashford's view, and much like business as they looked, they extended that night no farther. The soldiers were again called out, again they took half-a-dozen prisoners, and again the crowd dispersed after a short and bloodless scuffle.
With vows of eternal secrecy, and invoking blessings of an elaborate nature on Gashford's head, the Irishman hastened away, and went straight to the prison, which stood considerably apart from the huts and tents of the miners. "Who goes there?" challenged the sentry as he approached, for the night was very dark. "Mesilf, av coorse."
Despair and brandy had united to render Brixton utterly reckless; so much so, that instead of creeping stealthily towards his enemy's tent, an act which would probably have aroused the suspicion of a light sleeper, he walked boldly up, entered it, raised Gashford's unconscious head with one hand, pulled out the bag of gold with the other, put it on his shoulder, and coolly marched out of the camp.
Then came his lordship, with Mr Willet at his bridle rein; and, last of all, his lordship's secretary for that, it seemed, was Gashford's office. Hugh strode briskly on, often looking back at the servant, whose horse was close upon his heels, and glancing with a leer at his bolster case of pistols, by which he seemed to set great store.
Tom Brixton was thrust into a strong blockhouse, used chiefly as a powder magazine, but sometimes as a prison, the key of which was kept on that occasion in Gashford's pocket, while a trusty sentinel paced before the door. That night Fred Westly sat in his tent, the personification of despair.
In lieu of buckles at his knees, he wore unequal loops of packthread; and in his grimy hands he held a knotted stick, the knob of which was carved into a rough likeness of his own vile face. Such was the visitor who doffed his three-cornered hat in Gashford's presence, and waited, leering, for his notice. 'Ah! Dennis! cried the secretary. 'Sit down.
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