Poor Crackenfudge was silent; and, upon remembering his previous dialogue with Fenton, he could not avoid thinking that he was treated rather roughly between them, The baronet, however, still moved backward and forward, like an enraged tiger in his cage, without any further notice of Crackenfudge; who, on his part, felt likely to explode, unless he should soon disburden himself of his intelligence. Indeed, so confident did he feel of the sedative effect it would and must have upon the disturbed spirit of this dark and terrible man, that he resolved to risk an experiment, at all hazards, after his own way. He accordingly puckered his face into a grin that was rendered melancholy by the terror which was still at his heart, and, in a voice that had one of the most comical quavers imaginable, he said: “Good news, Sir Thomas.” “Good devil, sir! what do you mean?” “A' mean good news, Sir Thomas. The fellow in the inn--a' know everything about him.” “Eh! what is that? I beg your pardon, Crackenfudge; I have treated you discourteously and badly--but you will excuse me. I have had such cause for excitement as is sufficient to drive me almost mad. What is the good news you speak of, Crackenfudge?” “Do you know who the fellow in the inn is, Sir Thomas?” “Not I; but I wish I did.” “Well, then, a' can tell you.” Sir Thomas turned abruptly about, and, fastening his dark gleaming eyes upon him, surveyed him with an expression of which no language could give an adequate description. “Crackenfudge,” said he, in a voice condensed into tremendous power and interest, “keep me not a moment in suspense--don't tamper with me, sir--don't attempt to play upon me--don't sell your intelligence, nor make a bargain for it. Curse your magistracy--have I not already told you that I will help you to it? What is the intelligence--the good news you speak of?” “Why, simply this, Sir Thomas,” replied the other,--“that a' know who and what the fellow in the inn is; but, for God's sake, Sir Thomas, keep your temper within bounds, or if you don't, a' must only go home again, and keep my secret to myself. You have treated me very badly, Sir Thomas; you have insulted me, Sir Thomas; you have grossly offended me, Sir Thomas, in your own house, too, and without the slightest provocation. A' have told you that a' know everything about the fellow in the inn; and now, sir, you may thank the treatment a' received that a' simply tell you that, and have the honor of bidding you good day.” “Crackenfudge,” replied. Sir Thomas, who in an instant saw his error, and felt in all its importance the value of the intelligence with which the other was charged, “I beg your pardon; but you may easily see that I was not--that I am not myself.”