The effect of these words was an instant burst of uproarious applause throughout the court. Hats were waved violently; white handkerchiefs were waved as actively; the friends of the prisoner were shaking hands with one another, and rushing to shake hands with him, and all the time the judge was looking half-menacingly, half-laughingly, and saying something that nobody could hear, and the clerk of arraigns was shouting “Order! order!” with all his might. Of course the judge was trying to tell the offenders that if they did not keep quiet he must order them into custody, which was such an excellent joke, the offenders being the whole assembly, except a few of the Rockville and Bullockshed clan, who looked dark and significant of dissent, that old Baron Garrow, who dearly loved a joke, enjoyed the uproar as much as any of them. Sir Henry Clavering had slipped away by a private door from the court, and run to carry the news to the family of Mr. Woodburn, who were awaiting in direst anxiety the result of the trial. They were standing at the window ready to catch the first sign of an approaching messenger, when a triumphant wave of his hat made them aware that all was right, and he rushed into the house to find himself caught and embraced and kissed and wet all over with tears of joy by every one there. Quickly came Sir Henry’s carriage, bringing Mr. Woodburn and George. We must leave the reader to imagine the scenes that followed. The husband and father stood amongst them once more, freed from every charge or shadow of suspicion of the odious crime imputed to him. That same evening a long train of carriages was seen driving from Mrs. Thorsby’s house out of the town, and taking the way towards Woodburn. There were those of Mr. Degge, of Mr. Heritage, Mr. Fairfax, Sir Henry Clavering, and the worthy Counsellor Balguy, as he was commonly called all through the Midland Counties. The bells were ringing in the steeples of Castleborough, and they were ringing at Cotmanhaye—Woodburn had no church—for Sir Henry Clavering had previously arranged all that in a most liberal manner, and that evening Mr. Woodburn stood once more under his own roof a free and unblemished man. All through Woodburn flags and garlands of evergreens, and shouting men, and women all tears and smiles, had made the drive a triumph. When these accompanying friends had taken their leave, and the happy family were left to themselves as in some strange dream, Ann came and softly dropped on her knees by her father, and taking his hand said, amidst tears of gladness—“Well, dearest father, God’s time is come!” Mr. Woodburn stooped and kissed her affectionately, and said, “True, dear child, true—let us forget the hour and the power of darkness. You are far wiser than I am.” “No, dear father,” said Ann. “No—the truth is, you have been tried far more than I have. But thank God that all this is over!” CHAPTER III. A WONDERFUL DREAM.