“What’s his name, say you?” asked the squire, who had conducted his companions into the study, through the walls of which they could hear the stertorous snoring of the other guests, who had fallen asleep, whether upon or under the table Tregenna could only guess. “I know only that he is called Tom,” replied Tregenna, who remembered that the parson had uttered that name. “Ah, then ’twill be ‘Gardener Tom,’ as they call him, as fine a lad as ever you clapped eyes on,” almost sighed the squire, as he began to make out the warrant, not without erasures, in a decidedly ‘after-dinner’ handwriting. “Poor Tom, poor Tom! You will not have him moved to-night, general, and jolt a man in a fever across the marshes to Rye?” “Egad, squire, since he will certainly be hanged, what signifies a jog more or less to his rascally bonesh?” retorted the brigadier ferociously. The warrant made out, and the soldiers summoned from the servants’ hall, where they had been regaled by the squire’s command, the lieutenant and the brigadier took leave of their host, and started from the house without loss of time, Tregenna keeping pace on foot with the officer’s charger, while the soldiers followed. The brigadier was in the highest spirits, and was inclined to look down upon Tregenna’s capture, and upon his methods of work. “’S’no use, my lad, no mortal use,” he said, laying down the law with vigor, and trying to sit straight upon the saddle so that his gesticulating arm should not overbalance him, “to try t’ get on in anything without th’ women! Now, I alwaysh make up to th’ women!” he went on, with a wink and a roguish leer; “and they’re going to pull me through thish time, as they’ve done a hundred timesh afore! Did you see me with that lass?” he went on, resting his hand upon his hip, and cocking his hat knowingly. “That lass that went up the village with me?” “A decent-looking woman, that has the appearance of a farmer’s wife or daughter?” said Tregenna, somewhat dryly. “Ay, that’s she. Name’s Ann Price, keepsh house for her brother, who’s a farmer living a little way inland yonder. Forget name of place. Squire told me all about her. Fine woman, sir; doosed fine woman; sh’perior woman, too, monstrous sh’perior. She’s going to put me on the track of the beggars; took me up the hill, and showed me the way to one of their haunts, that she did, sir. Though in these parts one wouldn’t have thought she’d ha’ dared do it, sir; and she wouldn’t if I hadn’t known how to wheedle it out of her!” “You don’t think, general, she was playing you false?”