“Well, sir, as I was saying, until we shall have succeeded in hanging or transporting him. The first would be the safest, no doubt: but until we shall be able to accomplish either one or the other, we have not much to expect in the shape of compliance from your daughter. When the villain is removed, however, hope, on her part, will soon die out--love will lose its _pabulum_.” “Its what?” asked the squire, staring at him with a pair of round eyes that were full of perplexity and wonder. “Why, it means food, or rather fodder.” “Curse you, sir,” replied the squire indignantly; “do you want to make a beast of my daughter?” “But it's a word, sir, applied by the poets, as the food of Cupid.” “Cupid! I thought he was drowned in the honey-pot, yet he's up again, and as brisk as ever, it appears. However, go on--let us understand fairly what you're at. I think I see a glimpse of it; and knowing your character upon the subject of persecution as I do, it's more, I must say, than I expected from you. Go on--I bid you.” “I say, then, sir, that if Reilly were either hanged or out of the country, the consciousness of this would soon alter matters with Miss Folliard. If you, then, sir, will enter into an agreement with me, I shall undertake so to make the laws bear upon Reilly as to rid either the world or the country of him; and you shall promise not to press upon your daughter the subject of her marriage with me until then. Still, there is one thing you must do; and that is, to keep her under the strictest surveillance.” “What the devil's that?” said the squire. “It means,” returned his expected son-in-law, “that she must be well watched, but without feeling that she is so.” “Would it not be better to lock her up at once?” said her father. “That would be making the matter sure.” “Not at all,” replied Whitecraft. “So sure as you lock her up, so sure she will break prison.” “Well, upon my soul,” replied her father. “I can't see that. A strong lock and key are certainly the best surety for the due appearance of any young woman disposed to run away. I think the best way would be to make her feel at once that her father is a magistrate, and commit her to her own room until called upon to appear.” Whitecraft, whose object was occasionally to puzzle his friend, gave a cold grin, and added: “I suppose your next step would be to make her put in security. No--no, Mr. Folliard; if you will be advised by me, try the soothing system; antiphlogistic remedies are always the best in a case like hers.” “Anti--what? Curse me, if I can understand every tenth word you say. However, I give you credit, Whitecraft; for upon my soul I didn't think you knew half so much as you do. That last, however, is a tickler--a nut that I can't crack. I wish I could only get my tongue about it, till I send it among the Grand Jury, and maybe there wouldn't be wigs on the green in making it out.” “Yes, I fancy it would teach them a little supererogation.”