The girl turned pale as death; while the blood rushed to Mark Antony’s brows, as he stepped boldly between his companion and the strangers. “Fear nothing, love!” exclaimed the fosterer. “By heaven! I’ll murder the scoundrel on the spot, if he attempts to touch you with a finger.” “I told you,” remarked the Israelite, “what a desperate offender he was. That’s the man that robbed me of my purse, and that’ere woman, a pal of his, assisted.” “Infamous liar!” exclaimed the accused female; while Mark Antony caught up the poker, and prepared for rebutting the accusation with other proofs than argument. The constables called for assistance; the Jew retreated through the door; and the sergeant, the student, and the rat-catcher rushed up-stairs, followed by the host of idlers who are ever found loitering about the precincts of an Irish inn. A scene of indescribable confusion succeeded. All asked questions, to which none would vouchsafe a reply. The Jew solemnly protested he had been robbed; the accused indignantly repelled the charge of felony; while the constables insisted that all concerned should immediately repair to the residence of a neighbouring magistrate, there to be dealt with as appertained to justice. The whole party accordingly set forth to undergo-the ordeal of the law’s inquiry. Mark Antony and his fair friend, under the especial patronage of their quondam road-companions--the sergeant, the student, and the rat-catcher; and the Israelite aided, counselled, and consoled by the village Dogberries, to whom, in the event of a conviction, the Jew had been, as Jews generally are, most liberal--in promise. On reaching the domicile of the Justice, the _posse comitatus_ halted in front of the hall door; for, as Mr. Blundel had just fabricated a fourth tumbler, and the water was of consistent heat, some time must elapse before the mixture could be conveniently disposed of. At last, the prisoners were summoned to the presence; and the accused, being duly arraigned, the complainant was invited to detail the wrongs he had received. At his first interview with the fosterer, the Jew had endeavoured to sink as much of his slang as he could effect; but now his own character was to be supported, and his address to the seat of justice was in the peculiar parlance of his people. “Vy, ye see, yer vorchip, that my name is Reuben Levi. I’m a jeweller by trade, and an honest man along of it. I comes to Hierland with some goods; sells vot I had at a loss to get home agin; and with five pound in paper, and three guineas and a half in goold, I was returnin to Dublin. If the money’s mine, it’s in a green silk purse, and no mistake.” The Jew paused; and a reference to Mark Antony’s pocket confirmed the statement of Mr. Montague.