He does not desire to make use of artificial colouring, believing that the interest in the work lies in its reality. The felon appears just as he is, as crime makes him, and as Newgate receives him――successful, it may be, for a season, but arrested, condemned, scourged by conscience, and cut off from society as unfit for its walks. Of all the members of the family of man few have been so rapidly forgotten as those who have been swept from the face of the world by the fiat of the law and the hands of the public executioner. Yet the guilty and the unfortunate have left biographies behind them that speak to future generations in awful and impressive tones. If they were inflictions on the past generation, they may be made useful in the present age as beacons to the reckless voyager――voices lifted up from the moral wrecks of the world speaking audibly to listening men “of righteousness, and temperance, and judgment.” CHAPTER I. OAKFIELD FARMHOUSE――THE BURGLARY――DESPERATE ENCOUNTER――VILLAGERS TO THE RESCUE. Our first scene opens at a picturesque-looking farmhouse situated on the outskirts of a pretty little village within a few miles of Hull. Oakfield Farmhouse――so called from a number of patriarchal oaks poising their lofty heads in the rear of the establishment――was in the occupation of two substantial yeomen named respectively John and Richard Ashbrook, their only sister Maude being mistress of the bright and cheerful abode. In the earlier portion of the day our two Yorkshire farmers had been out on a shooting expedition. They brought back with them two friends――fellow-sportsmen. They were driven home by the rain, which fell in torrents, and rendered further sport impracticable. “I knowed how it would be,” said Richard Ashbrook to his companions. “These beastly river fogs always bring wet, and the clouds have been as ‘bengy’ (full of rain) for some time――as bengy as could be.” When the party reached Oakfield their garments were saturated with wet, and clung to them like a second skin. “I have got a fire in the big bedroom――a good blazing fire――for I guessed how it would be,” said Maude Ashbrook, as she received her guests at the door. “You’ll all of you have to change your things. Mercy on us, you are dripping wet, John!” she exclaimed, placing her hand on her brother’s shoulder. “Our friends will stop and have a morsel of something to eat and drink for the matter o’ that,” observed Richard. “Indeed no――I think not,” said Mr. Jamblin, one of the farmer’s companions. “Ah, but he will,” returned the farmer. “None of yer think nots. Come, friends, get thee in. We don’t intend to part with thee so easily.” Mr. Jamblin smiled, shrugged his shoulders, and obeyed. The other friend of the farmer’s, a Mr. Cheadle by name, followed Jamblin.