“I really begin to believe that you are a Presbyterian and Hanoverian in good earnest. But what do you propose to do?”
“Instantly to refute this atrocious calumny.—Before whom,” I asked, “was this extraordinary accusation laid.”
“Before old Squire Inglewood, who had sufficient unwillingness to receive it. He sent tidings to my uncle, I suppose, that he might smuggle you away into Scotland, out of reach of the warrant. But my uncle is sensible that his religion and old predilections render him obnoxious to Government, and that, were he caught playing booty, he would be disarmed, and probably dismounted (which would be the worse evil of the two), as a Jacobite, papist, and suspected person.” *
* On occasions of public alarm, in the beginning of the eighteenth century, the horses of the Catholics were often seized upon, as they were always supposed to be on the eve of rising in rebellion.
“I can conceive that, sooner than lose his hunters, he would give up his nephew.”
“His nephew, nieces, sons—daughters, if he had them, and whole generation,” said Diana;—“therefore trust not to him, even for a single moment, but make the best of your way before they can serve the warrant.”
“That I shall certainly do; but it shall be to the house of this Squire Inglewood—Which way does it lie?”
“About five miles off, in the low ground, behind yonder plantations—you may see the tower of the clock-house.”
“I will be there in a few minutes,” said I, putting my horse in motion.
“And I will go with you, and show you the way,” said Diana, putting her palfrey also to the trot.