exchange, and ridden away unseen while the
stable-boys were taking their dinner. A
well-dressed man had ridden swiftly past
George and myself whilst we were walking
on the road; but we were far too much
engrossed in conversation to take any
particular notice of himself or the steed he was
riding. Under these awkward and distressing
circumstances, I scarcely knew what to do.
It was now past two o'clock, and I was
anxious to return to my home. I, therefore
(accompanied by George Bowman to the very
edge of our grounds), proceeded on foot. As
soon as I was in my own room I divested
myself of my riding-habit, and wrote a letter
to John Pack, requesting him to see me at
the earliest moment possible. It was past
four o'clock when my father returned, and
the moment I saw him I discovered that he
was much the worse for the refreshment he
had taken while absent from home. He told
me, and it was quite true, that Jack Pack
had had a bad fall in the field, had broken
his thigh and smashed his head, and that he
was then lying in a dangerous state at a
public-house not far from Bradford. I
begged of him to let me go and see the
sufferer. But he said No! and then informed
me that he had had such a violent quarrel
with Squire Pack, that they could never be
on speaking terms again. It was all about
the settlements, he said; that the old thief
wanted to hold off coming down with any
money till his death; that he (Squire Pack)
had broken his word; that he (my father)
had given him a good bellyful of his mind;
that he told the Squire that neither he, nor
his father before him, were born in wedlock;
and that, after all, it would be a disgrace for
a Crawford to have a Pack for a husband.
All this distressed me very much; but I still
hoped that this, like their other quarrels,
would be made up ere long, and that, in the
meantime, poor John Pack would recover,
and Sir Francis Bowman tempt my father to
listen to the liberal proposals he was about
to make to him with respect to my union
with George. It was, however, a frightfully
anxious night that which I passed. My
sleep, when it at last stole over me, was a
troubled one, and my dreams a succession of
horror upon horror. When I awoke, I
fancied that all was a dream— the accident
to John Pack, the quarrel between my father
and the Squire, the meeting between myself
and George Bowman, and the loss of the colt
at the Hen and Chickens. But, alas! I was
speedily awakened to the reality, by my
father calling out ' Kate! Kate! Come
here! What have you been about? Here
are the officers of justice come to take you
before the magistrate!' I ran down-stairs,
confessed everything, and entreated him to
forgive me. Like most of the old squires, he
was a very violent and headstrong man, and
on this occasion his anger was terrific. ' Take
her! ' he cried to the officers. ' Take her
away! Let her be hanged, for all I care!
She deserves it for deceiving me!'

"It seems that as soon as Squire Pack
heard of my taking the colt away, he vowed
that he would have me tried for horse-
stealing, and thus would he disgrace the
man who had called him such vile names
and said such bitter things to him. And,
in fulfilment of this vow, he went to the
nearest magistrate, accompanied by his groom
and another servant, and made a deposition
upon oath. The magistrate was an old
clergyman, to whom Squire Pack had given
the 'living,' and who was in the habit of
responding the words 'of course,' to every
sentence the Squire uttered. A warrant for
my apprehension was immediately issued,
and I was taken into custody. What
happened before the clerical magistrate I cannot
recollect; but I can remember being asked
several times, ' What has become of the
colt?' and replying, 'I don't know.' The
consequence was, I was committed to take
my trial at the forthcoming assizes, and was
meanwhile sent to prison.

"Whilst I was in those cold and dismal
cells, my father never came near me; nor did
he write to me, or even send me a message.
The only person whom I saw— and that was
in the presence of the jailor— was George
Bowman, who did all in his power to
console me, although, poor boy, his face and
shrunken form plainly betrayed that he was
bordering on insanity, caused by grief.
George told me that Sir Francis Bowman had
spoken to Squire Pack; but the Squire would
not listen to him, and that he had declined to
receive the value, or double the value, of the
colt which had been ' stolen' by me— swearing,
that ' the law should take its course.'

"The day of trial came, and I was
arraigned. George Bowman had retained an
able lawyer to defend me, but his advocacy
was of no avail. He urged that I had not
taken the colt with the intention of stealing
it, but of returning it, after I had
ridden it. To this the other counsel replied,
'Why didn't she return it?' 'Because it
was stolen from her at the inn,' was the
rejoinder. This the jury regarded as a very
fond (foolish) tale, and found me guilty;
whereupon the judge put on the black cap,
and sentenced me to be hanged by the neck
until I was dead!

"What happened afterwards— whom I
saw, or what they said— I know not. I was
in a perfect lethargy, and did not recover my
senses until more than half of the voyage to
the colony was completed."

Here the old lady paused for a brief while,
and then resumed.

"What Kate's sufferings must have been,
when she was conscious of what was passing
around her, it would, indeed, be difficult to
describe. She had not only to bear the
companionship of the three hundred degraded
wretches who were her fellow-passengers;