That dramatic scene in the church was talked of in Polkerran for many a long year. A deep hush had fallen upon the whole congregation; even the most fractious and fidgety children felt awed, by they scarcely knew what. Consternation held the smugglers rigid in their seats. John Trevanion’s face turned sea-green, and the smile by which he tried to conceal from the congregation the mingled emotions—surprise, rage, even fear—that possessed him, did but reveal them the more clearly to two pair of eyes in the Squire’s pew. Meanwhile the Vicar had turned over a few leaves of his prayer-book. Now, in a peculiarly solemn tone, he began to read the thanksgiving "For peace and deliverance from our enemies." The words rolled through the church: "We yield Thee praise and thanksgiving for our deliverance from these great and apparent dangers wherewith we were compassed"; and at the close Penwarden’s voice was again uplifted in a loud and prolonged "Amen." Mr. Carlyon was a man of tact. He knew very well that his people would be on tenter-hooks until they could discuss these strange incidents. It was no time to preach to them. A sermon was not an essential part of the service. Accordingly he finished the order for morning prayer and gave the Blessing without ascending into the pulpit. The congregation streamed forth. Tonkin and his friends in a knot hurried down to the inn, followed closely by the tub-carriers of the previous night, whom Doubledick had invited to meet him there. John Trevanion came out alone, and walked rapidly homeward, without a word or a look to anyone. The rest went their several ways, except the Squire and his family, and Penwarden, whom Mr. Carlyon invited to the Parsonage. There they found Mr. Mildmay and the riding-officer sitting in the sunlight at an open window, sipping toddy and taking snuff, thoughtfully brought to them by the housekeeper. "Upon my word," said the Vicar, on beholding their wrathful countenances, "if I had not so lately taken off my surplice I fear I should laugh. What is the meaning of it, gentlemen?" It is regrettable, but the truth must be told. The two officers, Mrs. Trevanion not having entered the room, let forth a flood of language such as certainly had never before been heard within those walls. "Come, come," said the Vicar, "remember my cloth. I will change my coat, and then ask you to tell me calmly, as befits the day, all that has happened." "Your cousin, Squire——" began Mr. Mildmay, on the Vicar’s departure, but he choked. "Is a consummate scoundrel, sir," said Mr. Polwhele for him. "He hoodwinked us," said the lieutenant. "He trapped us," cried the riding-officer. "Calmly, gentlemen," said the Vicar, re-entering. "Now, Mildmay." "He invited us to his house——" "And laughed and joked," put in Mr. Polwhele. "And made himself deuced pleasant," said Mr. Mildmay. "One would think they were parson and clerk," said the Vicar under his breath.