“Let my son—let the Crusa— let him go, then,” said the Reverend gentleman, raising his poker.
“I can’t, sir, ’cause he won’t let me go.”
“All right, I’ll let you go now,” said Harry, unclasping his arms and rising with a long-drawn sigh. “Now you. Come to the light and let’s have a look at you.”
So saying, the lad thrust his mailed hand into the burglar’s neckerchief, and assisted by the Reverend Theophilus, led his captive to the light which had been put on the table. The gardener and Robin did the same with Dick. For one moment it seemed as if the two men meditated a rush for freedom, for they both glanced at the still open window, but the stalwart Simon with the rolling-pin and the sturdy Robin with the tongs stood between them and that mode of exit, while the Crusader with his mace and huge Mr Stronghand with the study poker stood on either side of them. They thought better of it. “Bring two chairs here,” said the clergyman, in a gentle yet decided tone.
Robin and Harry obeyed—the latter wondering what “the governor was going to be up to.”
“Sit down,” said the clergyman, quietly and with much solemnity.
The burglars humbly obeyed.
“Now, my men, I am going to preach you a sermon.”
“That’s right, father,” interrupted Harry, in gleeful surprise. “Give it ’em hot. Don’t spare them. Put plenty of brimstone into it.”
But, to Harry’s intense disgust, his father put no brimstone into it at all. On the contrary, without availing himself of heads or subdivisions, he pointed out in a few plain words the evil of their course, and the only method of escaping from that evil. Then he told them that penal servitude for many years was their due according to the law of the land.