“Hold your tongue—quit the room—or stop—stay—I'll consider whether I ought not to order Batter to take you into custody.”
The little girl now stepped from behind the pedlar's pack, and advancing close to Sir Waldron, with a smile playing over her features, said to the magistrate, “If you please, sir, may I speak, now every body's done?”
“Certainly, child,” replied the baronet; “what have you to say?—what is your name?”
“Agnes, sir.”
“Agnes what, child?—what is your other name?” The little girl made no reply, but looked alternately at Sir Waldron and the prisoners, and the tears gushed from her eyes.
“What is the meaning of this?” said the baronet.
“Perhaps, brother,—you know best,” observed Reginald;—“but perhaps there is some mystery in this matter, something that lies deeper than you imagine. The child may be intimidated from speaking the truth in the presence of these three good people.”
“Do you think so?—Well, then, I'll take her apart into my study,” replied Sir Waldron: “come,” added he, addressing the child, “come with me, Agnes; do not be frightened.”
“Bless you, I am not frightened,” said the child; “I'm very glad.”
“Ay, ay,” quoth Reginald, “it is as I suspected, very clearly; Batter and Quality, look well to these honest fellows.”