“Wou'lt do't, then--wou'lt do't?” eagerly asked Saul: “Ah! I knew thee wouldst. Ponto yean't my zon, and yet--but, odd! there bean't a minute to lose. Abel will be here directly. Ponto, my dog, thou'lt zave us a mort o' trouble. Tell'ee what, Martin,--only cut the rope, and go to bed. Never mind the cuffs;--cut the rope vor me, and I be zafe out wi' your pocket-knife,--make haste,” continued Saul, in a hurried tone, as Martin searched his pockets with a tremulous hand;--“here, lad, let I veel vor un--here a' is--now cut--cut through: gi'e me dree hours' law, as I told'ee, and then do as you like.--Why, lad! thee'lt be a month; I'd ha' cut down an oak by this time.” “What have I done?” exclaimed Martin, as he, at length, separated the rope. “Done! why, done your duty,” was Saul's reply; “kneel down there, Martin, and take a vather's blessing vor't;--a vather's blessing, lad, let un be ever zo bad a man, won't do thee hurt.” Martin, almost unconsciously, knelt, and the murderer, placing his hand on the young man's head, solemnly and most affectionately blessed him. When Abel entered, Martin had nearly reached the door; he pushed the constable aside, and rushed out of the room, in a manner that perfectly amazed the old man. “Well!” said he, as he endeavoured to strut, but in fact, staggered in rather a ludicrous manner, toward the prisoner;--“if that's behaviour to a parochial functionary--if any jury will say it is--I'll resign my staff of office. What do you think, Saul?” “Bad manners, Yeabel;--bad manners, in my mind,” replied Braintree; “but he be vexed like;--and I'll tell'ee why:--I ha' been trying to coax un over to help me out o' the house.” “You ha'n't, surely, Saul!” “I tell'ee I have, then--why not? Wouldn't you? answer me that!--but the young dog revuzed; zo then I abuzed un, and a' left me in a pet. But, I zay, Yeabel, you be drunk, or handy to't, bean't'ee?--You shouldn't do that! It's wrong ov'ee, Yeabel: every man, in my mind, should do his duty; and you bean't doing yours to get voggy wi' stout October, when you've a-got a prisoner in hand.” “None of your sneering, Saul; I am _compos_ and capable,” said Abel. “You bean't, Yeabel! upon my life, you bean't!” replied Saul; “you shouldn't do so--no, truly. Why, now, suppose I were to 'scape.” “Escape!” exclaimed Abel, cocking his hat; “elude my vigilance!--come, that's capital!” “Why, you'll vall asleep avore half the night be over.” “What! sleep upon my post!--never, Saul,--never.” “You'll prance up and down there all night, I'll war'nt, then, and 20 keep me from getting a bit of rest:--you be aveard to lie down, ay, or zit.” “I am afraid of nothing and nobody,” replied Abel, indignantly; “and you know it, neighbour Braintree: but no sneering of yours, will tempt me; I'm up to thee, Saul; so be quiet;--or say your prayers. I'm never so fit to serve my King and country, or the parochial authorities, as when my wits are sharpened by an extra cup or two.”