When he and his captor had gone, the magistrate fell into a chair, covered his face with his hands and sobbed like a child.
He had hardly recovered himself from his first paroxysm of grief when the voice of Ashbrook was heard in the outer hall, inquiring of the servant for Mr. Kensett.
The magistrate pulled himself together as best he could, and assumed an air of official sternness.
“Oh, your sarvint, sir,” cried Ashbrook, entering the parlour. “I be a little late—leastways later than I had intended. Beg pardon, squire, but I hope I aint intruding.”
“Not at all, my friend, so pray be seated,” exclaimed Kensett. “I am glad to see you.”
“Thanks. I ought to ha’ been a little earlier, but it can’t be helped, I’ve been detained. I wanted to say summut about Mr. Todd. He’s done his duty, and I am glad I coom up just in time to render him timely service. However, what I wanted to make known to your worship is this, Mr. Todd did his duty and fought like a brick.”
“Ah, I have no doubt. Todd is a most efficient officer.”
“He brought in the prisoner, I s’pose,” said Ashbrook.
“Yes, the young rascal is locked up, and will be brought before me to-morrow morning for examination.”
“Ah, just so. Well, Mr. Kensett, I know summat of the varmint; he be a bad lot.”