The dog's rage increased. With every hair of his thick coat bristling and erect, he darted forward into the darkness, baying furiously; and in a moment the snap-snap of his jaws, together with a continuous and savage snarling, proclaimed him to be at very close quarters with something or somebody, who had the greatest difficulty in warding off his attack. "Cawl the dorg off, master," adjured a thick, gruff voice, not untinged with trepidation. With some difficulty Roland complied, and in obedience to his peremptory mandate to come out and show himself, there stepped into the moonlight a powerful, thickset ruffian, armed with a cudgel. Mightily astonished, he recognised in the swarthy and scowling features no less a personage than Stephen Devine, the poacher, whom if he had thought of at all it would have been as in Battisford Gaol, doing a month's hard labour, less about ten days already served. "Didn't expect to see me, eh, master?" said the fellow, with a grin, the other not breaking silence. "Right you are--I didn't. And now, may I ask, what the devil are you doing here?" "Thort I was safe in quod, didn't 'ee, young Squire?" rejoined Devine, advancing a step nearer, with the same evil grin. Roy, who had been crouching at his master's feet, keeping up a running fire of growls, sprang up at this move, and with his fangs fixed would have made at the intruder, but found himself held by main force. "Down, Roy! Quiet, sir! I think you'll be safe in that institution again by this time to-morrow," answered Roland. "Meanwhile, how the deuce did you get out of it to-day?" "Haw-haw! Mr Turner 'e paid my fine and got me out. 'E's a genelman, 'e is. 'E said I ort to be at home, lookin' after my darter." "H'm! A fool and his money are soon parted. However, it's a thousand pities the cash should be so utterly thrown away. Thrown away, because to-morrow you'll return to your old quarters. For trespassing here, you understand." "Haw-haw! Oh, no, I won't, sir--not I. You'll say nuthin' about to-night--not you?" "No? And why not?" "Because," answered the fellow, lowering his voice, but speaking in an insolent tone--"because I should have such a nice little story to tell their warshups the beaks, and the laryers, and the parties wot comes to see poor coves tried. I should be able to tell how young Squire Dorrien wasn't above steppin' down to my cottage o' nights to keep my gal company like, while her poor old dad's in trouble. I could tell 'em how I went to get a breath o' fresh air the night I come out o' quod, and as how I see young Squire Dorrien a steppin' along in the dark to see my gal. I could tell as how I follered him until he cotched sight of the bit of light my gal had stuck in the winder to let him know her old dad's come home again, and young Squire wouldn't be adsackly welcome that night--and as how 'stonished he looked when he seed it? Fine gal, my Lizzie, ain't she, Squire?"