“Now, Yeabel,” continued Saul, still kneeling over the constable,--“now, old blade, I'll leave thee wi' Ponto; but doan't thee move or call out, if thee values thy old droat. He'll worry thee like a wolf'ud a wether, if thee moves or makes as much noise as a mouse: but be quiet--be still, and he'll ztand over thee and not harm thee vor hours. Thee knowest the dog; and thee know'st me well enough to be zertain I wouldn't leave thee, vit to make alarm, if I wer'n't zure o' the dog. I doan't want to hurt thee, zo I leaves thee wi' un: but, mind--he'll hold thy droat a little tighter than I did, if thee wags a hair.--Ponto!” added Saul, turning to the fine animal, who seemed to be listening to what he had said; “mind un, Ponto!--Steady, good dog!--Soho! and steady! but mind un!” [Illustration: 098] To use a sporting phrase, Ponto immediately “stood;” he threw himself into an attitude that even Saul, as he departed, pronounced to be beautiful. His eye was keenly fixed upon Abel; the roots of his ears were elevated and brought forward; one of his fore-legs was held up, and curved so that the claws nearly touched his body; his tail no longer curled, but stood out straight on a level with his back; every muscle in his frame seemed, as it were, to be upon the alert; he appeared on the point of making a spring forward; but no statue ever stood more motionless on its pedestal, than Ponto did over the prostrate and terrified constable. Braintree lost no time after he left the room which had been his temporary prison: he descended cautiously to the ground-floor, and versed as he had been in his boyhood, and for several years after time had written man upon his brow, in the topography of the old Hall, he easily found an outlet, and escaped without creating any alarm. In a paddock adjoining the pleasure-grounds of the Hall, he caught a horse, which had been turned out on account of a sand-crack; twisted a hazel, from the hedge, into a halter and mouthpiece; leaped the fence; and, in less than half an hour, by dint of hard galloping across the country,--clearing every thing as though he was riding a steeple-chase,--Saul reached his own cottage. Meg and her daughter were still up, the wife weeping, and the child praying for Saul's safe deliverance. He beat at the door, and Meg clasped the girl to her breast and exclaimed, “Oh! what now?--what now? They're surely coming for thee, Peggy. They'll leave me to murder myself--childless!” “Open the door, Meg--my own Meg!” said Saul, without; “'tis I, Meg;--thy poor Zaul.” Braintree was soon by his own hearth, with his wife and daughter weeping and hanging round his neck. “Well, and how is it, Saul?” inquired Meg, as soon as she could find utterance. “Art discharged, father?” said Peggy.