being busy felling his fellow captive (who
had betrayed him) to the earth—had been
secured, and dragged to the gate to which the
troop horses were tied. The road being clear,
the carriage dashed onward; and, one glance
towards the gate as they passed, showed to two
of its occupants—Mr. and Mrs. Calder Dornley—
who the newly-taken prisoner was. A
short sharp glance passed between the
husband and wife. Mrs. Dornley would have
spoken but for an interruption which came
from the opposite seat—the cry of a newly-
born infant lying in Mary Garstang's lap.

CHAPTER THE SIXTH.

THE good town of Nottingham, not having
the remotest suspicion that a besieging force
was in motion to sack it, slept soundly on
the night of the ninth of June. But, towards
the morning of the tenth, it woke in a fright.
Very early, its great triangular market-place
resounded with the tramp of infantry, the
grounding of muskets, and the clattering of
cavalry hoofs. The mayor and municipal officers
were knocked untimely out of their beds, and
appeared in the town-hall with their robes of
office awry, and their countenances bewildered
and dazed. As the morning advanced, fasting
county magistrates galloped in from their
distant homes, and made straight for the
Royal George; where, in petty sessions
assembled, they communicated with the
barracks, by means of special constables
and orderlies, between hastily-snatched cups
of tea and half-eaten eggs. Expresses were
sent off for the high-sheriff and deputy-
lieutenant, and Mr. Vollum, the chief legal
functionary of the town (of the firm of Vollum
and Knoll), sent his partner post to London
to confer with the solicitor of his majesty's
treasury. The tradespeople under the arcades,
would not open their shops; but wandered
between the Royal George, the town-hall, and
the newspaper offices, asking what was the
matter, and getting for answer wild and
alarming information. The panic was not
allayed by the frequent arrival of prisoners,
guarded by constables, or escorted by hussars,
on the tops of through-coaches, or in the
bottoms of farmers' carts.

By noon the prevalent horrors had evaporated
sufficiently to leave a residuum of truth;
and this was published in a supplement
of the local journal. The Pentridge
rioters had attacked the Butterley iron-works
without success, but had proceeded to rifle
the cottages along the road of guns and
ammunition, and to pull unwilling men out
of their beds to join in the intended capture
of Nottingham, on pain of being pistolled.
One man at Topham's Close farm, who did not
lace his boots quite quickly enough to please
the Nottingham Captain, was shot dead on the
spot. The rioters actually advanced as far
as Eastwood, about six miles from the town;
but were met there by a county gentleman
who was riding home from a late sitting of
the House of Lords—a club of that
distinguished name which was held at the Green
Boar; and he cantered back to mention the
circumstance to the officer on duty at the
cavalry barracks. Eighteen troopers, who
happened to have been kept under arms all
night, were instantly led, by a captain and
a cornet, to the scene of action; and, in five
minutes, they captured forty stand of arms
and several prisoners. A detachment of
troopers at Matlock also had got the alarm;
had scoured that part of the country,
arresting several of the rioters who had not
stolen or straggled away during the march.

This was the true account. But the true
account did not suit the views either of the
Imperial Government or of the London
newspapers in Government pay. When their
description came out, it was the description of
a wide-spread rebellion. It was produced
piecemeal, in first, second, third, fourth, and
fifth editions, all bristling with prodigious
notes of admiration, and headed with
appalling capitals.

Towards evening, the bewitching curls of
the engaging little barmaid at the Royal
George again shook like hanging fruit; but,
this time, with grief. Her friend the Young
Squire had been marched up-stairs by a guard
of hussars, handcuffed to the "party" who
had got away a letter yesterday morning,
in the name of Nobble.

Mrs. Tuckey the landlady was hardly less
affected than her daughter, and had her
reasons for entreating Mr. Vollum, to look
over his papers in the bar-parlour. The
prisoners had just been searched, and the
Bench had ordered their clerk to retire, for
the purpose of perusing in calm privacy
the documents found upon their persons,
and then to discharge himself in open Court
of all the treason he could pick out.

The hostess was determined that Mr.
Vollum—a rival of Mr. Flip—should have his
task made as pleasant to him as possible; and,
knowing that he had had no dinner, sat
him down at a table near an open window
behind the screen, to a delicious anchovy
toast, and a tumbler of diluted sherry
sprinkled with a generous surface of
nutmeg,—a cool drink which was, next to the
landlady herself, Mr. Vollum's special
weakness.

The personal effects found on Mr. Nobble
were few; and, denoted a leaning, more to
order's, than to treason's side. They
consisted of six one pound notes, a short letter,
and a pic-nic knife. This knife, besides being
a horse-pick, a toothpick, a gimlet, a cork-
screw, a punch, a tweezer, a file, a wrench,
and a screw-driver, was knobbed at the end
with a silver crown, which made it also a
clandestine constable's staff. The letter ran
thus:—

"I now learn that he intends to ride across country
from Shutbury to Nottingham; where he may arrive
on Monday afternoon. He is certain to stop at the