Hester Wright alone stood grave and silent at a little distance from Dent, She was impatient of the mirth, and there was a troubled, anxious look on her face. She did not join in any of the songs, and at last, going up to Mother Bunch, she said a few words in her ear.
"Right you are, child," replied the Irishwoman. "Frinds—we'll now, if you plaze, stop these tokens of mirth and victory, and attend to the business of the evening."
Instantly the fiddle ceased; the footsteps became motionless; the voices died into silence; and a little group of about twenty people formed a semicircle round Dent. Mother Bunch, who was in the centre of this group, stepped forward a pace or two. Her brawny arm was bare to the elbow. She raised it now with a slightly significant gesture.
"Child," she said, addressing the prisoner—for surely as such Dent had to consider himself now—"I ax you a plain question, and I ax it in the name of the frinds of love and order here assembled. Will you confess yourself a guilty man, and own to the maneness of your nature in concocting a plot to ruin the innocent boy, Will Scarlett? or will ye keep your lips shut, and feel the power of this right ahrum?" "You're all a set o' cowards," burst from Dent. "Let me go free, this minute—I'll have the law of you—I had nothing to say to Scarlett's imprisonment."
"Yes, you had, child; and there's no use in your going for to deny it. You stole the notes and the gold, and the purty bit of a purse, and you put the blame on Will, 'cause you wanted to get scot-free yourself, and you wanted to take his gurl from him. You're a bad boy, Isaac Dent, and you desarves the least taste in life of the rod. Come along, neighbors, hould him, and do your dooty."
Dent began to scream abjectly, and at this juncture Hester Wright stepped to the front.
"Isaac," she said, in her deep, grave voice, "you have got to submit. We plotted this, I and these good Irish friends of mine. I don't mean that Will Scarlett shall lie in prison for your good pleasure. I don't mean that his good lass shall give herself to you. We plotted this, and we means to see it through. You're a bad man. Isaac, and you deceived Bet, and pretended to set Will free, when you know that he lies still in prison. Bet would have married you, I don't know how soon,—perhaps to-morrow—perhaps the next day,—but now she shall never wed you, Isaac; for here you stay—here you stay, year in, year out, until you confesses the truth."
"Yes—here you stay," repeated the Irish voices in full chorus, and the women began to laugh, and the men to chuckle audibly.
"You don't mean it," said Dent. His white face grew several shades more chalky.
"Yes," continued Hester, "we do mean it. You have managed to escape the law, Dent, and you managed to put the best man in Liverpool under its ban. But we've made a law ourselves, and we'll carry it out on you. Here you stays until you confesses the truth about Will. It ain't no good for you to make a fuss, for the police they doesn't often walk down Paradise Row. Mother Bunch is the only policeman as has much power here. You had better submit, Isaac, for you ha' got no loophole to act contrarywise."