“He is here,” cried Jesmond, pointing to the footman, a tall, handsome young man. An exclamation from Sir John was checked by her ladyship, who made a private sign to the footman to hold his tongue. “You are not making a second blunder, I trust?” said the sheriff. “No, no! rest easy, Sir William! All right now! I didn't recognise him at first in his disguise. But now I'll swear to him.” “You will swear that I am the Chevalier de Saint George, whom you call the Pretender?” cried the footman. “I will,” said Jesmond. Again Sir John would have interfered, if a look from her ladyship had not kept him quiet. “You need have no hesitation, Sir William,” said Jesmond. “I will take all consequences on my own head.” “But your head is nothing,” rejoined the sheriff. After a moment's consideration, he told Sir John Webb he must turn back, and accompany him to Newcastle. Sir John protested vehemently against the order, and declared it would put him to the greatest inconvenience. “I cannot help that,” said the sheriff. “I own I am somewhat perplexed, but a great responsibility rests with me, and I am afraid of committing an error.” “Then I warn you that you will commit a very great error indeed, if you take me to Newcastle,” said Sir John. “We are wasting time here,” cried the sheriff. “Your ladyship will be pleased to re-enter the carriage,” he added, in a polite, but authoritative tone to Lady Webb--“and you, Sir John.” The women servants followed, and the footman was about to shut the door, when the sheriff told him he must get in likewise. Finding Sir John was about to resist the intrusion, Jesmond pushed the young man in, vociferating in a mocking voice: “Room for his majesty, King James the Third!” Irritated to the last point, Sir John would certainly have resented the insult if Lady Webb had not held him fast. She could not, however, prevent him from putting his head out from the window, and shouting to the sheriff: “Where is this farce to end, Sir William?” “Most likely at the Tower of London,” was the sarcastic reply. “Make no rejoinder, Sir John,” said Lady Webb. “You'll have the laugh against him by-and-by.” The coach was then turned round, and guarded by the troop of yeomen, proceeding slowly towards Newcastle. III.--LORD WIDDRINGTON. |Very different was the progress of the prince and his party from that made by the occupants of the coach. While the latter were crawling along the highway, the others were flying across the country, as if chasing the deer. Over broad wide moors they speeded--across valley, and through wood--past ancient castles, and along the banks of rushing streams--allowing nothing to stop them--not even the Piets' wall, through a gap in which they dashed--till after traversing many a wild and waste such as only can be seen in Northumberland, they came in sight of the great German Ocean, and the rugged coast that bounds it.