“I assure you, sir,” I replied, “you cannot be more convinced of this than I; I have urged Miss Vernon's return as anxiously as she would permit me to do.” “I have thought on it,” said Miss Vernon after a pause, “and I will not go till I see you safe out of the hands of the Philistines. Cousin Rashleigh, I dare say, means well; but he and I know each other well. Rashleigh, I will not go;--I know,” she added, in a more soothing tone, “my being here will give you more motive for speed and exertion.” “Stay then, rash, obstinate girl,” said Rashleigh; “you know but too well to whom you trust;” and hastening out of the hall, we heard his horse's feet a minute afterwards in rapid motion. “Thank Heaven he is gone!” said Diana. “And now let us seek out the Justice.” “Had we not better call a servant?” “Oh, by no means; I know the way to his den--we must burst on him suddenly--follow me.” I did follow her accordingly, as she tripped up a few gloomy steps, traversed a twilight passage, and entered a sort of ante-room, hung round with old maps, architectural elevations, and genealogical trees. A pair of folding-doors opened from this into Mr. Inglewood's sitting apartment, from which was heard the fag-end of an old ditty, chanted by a voice which had been in its day fit for a jolly bottle-song. “O, in Skipton-in-Craven Is never a haven, But many a day foul weather; And he that would say A pretty girl nay, I wish for his cravat a tether.” “Heyday!” said Miss Vernon, “the genial Justice must have dined already--I did not think it had been so late.” It was even so. Mr. Inglewood's appetite having been sharpened by his official investigations, he had antedated his meridian repast, having dined at twelve instead of one o'clock, then the general dining hour in England. The various occurrences of the morning occasioned our arriving some time after this hour, to the Justice the most important of the four-and-twenty, and he had not neglected the interval. “Stay you here,” said Diana. “I know the house, and I will call a servant; your sudden appearance might startle the old gentleman even to choking;” and she escaped from me, leaving me uncertain whether I ought to advance or retreat. It was impossible for me not to hear some part of what passed within the dinner apartment, and particularly several apologies for declining to sing, expressed in a dejected croaking voice, the tones of which, I conceived, were not entirely new to me. “Not sing, sir? by our Lady! but you must--What! you have cracked my silver-mounted cocoa-nut of sack, and tell me that you cannot sing!--Sir, sack will make a cat sing, and speak too; so up with a merry stave, or trundle yourself out of my doors!--Do you think you are to take up all my valuable time with your d-d declarations, and then tell me you cannot sing?”