"Tut, tut, parson, you are losing your judgment if you suspect the servants. There's old George Sloan, the hostler, and Ned Pengilly, the gardener, the only two persons likely to be on the grounds at that time, and they loved old Borlase,--ay,--even better than they love his master. No, no, parson, you are at fault there." Parson Trant smiled, for he knew one of the chief failings in the squire's character. "No, I did not suspect them, but they, being on the grounds, can no doubt enlighten us and bring to view more evidence. The most learned and keen-sighted judge, at times, profits by the evidence of common labourers and country parsons, who are far beneath him in the knowledge of law and criminal investigation." "To be sure, to be sure," said the squire, somewhat mollified, "but here comes Sloan." An old man, whose erect form and sturdy step belied his grey hair and wrinkled brows, was seen approaching from the direction of the stables. "Canst tell us anything more about this outrage, Sloan?" The hostler was now close at hand and had removed his cap in deference to the gentlemen near him. "A bad job, beant it, squire, as I was a-telling nephe Bob this marning. No, sir, I can't say as Hi knaws much. I 'eard Borlase barking savage-like last night, and I ups and slips quiet-like down from my room o'er the stables, and run through the paddock just in time to see the rogue on the other side of the 'edge. It was dark, squire, and I 'aven't the heye-sight I used to 'ave, and so I couldn't make un out who 'e was. This marning I looked around and found poor Borlase a-lying there and brought you word. That's all I knaws, only I 'opes the villain will be caught and 'anged." "And did you see no person around the grounds late in the afternoon, George?" asked the parson. "None, sir, except my nephe Bob, who comes hover to the stables to 'elp me in my work, now and then, but 'e always leaves afore evening. Now--as I think of it, Bob was a-telling me 'e 'ad seen Ande Trembath nigh the Prospidnic road gate, as 'e was going 'ome last night; 'e may 'ave seen the rogue and could tell you summat." Blackness as of a thunder-cloud rolled across the old squire's features, and a purple stream of blood mounted and flushed his temples. "Spawn of the traitor! He shall smart for it!" "What a horrible oath! Squire, you are beside yourself," said the parson, with gentle, chiding reproof. "Well, damme, parson, what's a man to do? Here's all these outrages, and it's perfectly clear to my mind, now, that that traitorous son of----" "Tut, tut, fie, squire!" "That that traitorous son of a traitor, knowing that I have the possession of the manor of his ancestors, which the King--God bless him--took from their family on account of their treason, that boy--don't interrupt me, Parson Trant--that boy is the culprit, and damme--I'll have him arrested for malicious mischief and trespass."