“I say, what,” exclaimed the man, starting up furiously, “I don’t know what brings you here, forcing yourself into a man’s home without his leave; you shall go out a little quicker than you came—”
“Ay, but I shall not go alone,” replied Mr. Ewart, striking the table with his hand. At the signal, in rushed Jones and the two countrymen, followed by the magistrate; and after a short but furious struggle, they succeeded in securing their prisoner.
Ann attempted to make her escape by the back-door; Mr. Ewart laid his hand upon her arm.
“You are our prisoner also,” he said, “unhappy woman! nothing remains to you now but to make all the reparation in your power, by a frank and full confession.”
“What is to be done with the children?” said Mr. Ewart to the magistrate, looking round on the frightened, miserable family.
“Their proper home is the workhouse—I will see to them; and these prisoners must be sent to the jail.”
The clergyman gazed on the children with strong compassion. “We must consider if nothing better can be done for them,” thought he. “Poor inheritors of misery in this world, Heaven grant that they may have been taken from evil influence in time to preserve them, through God’s grace, from misery in that which is to come!”
“Looking forward, he saw Faithful before him upon his journey.”—_Pilgrim’s Progress._
A few hours afterwards, as Charles was sitting in his own room, amusing himself with his pencil, he was joined by his tutor, who looked weary and pale, as if suffering from exertion and excitement.
“I hope that you have found out who beat the poor boy so cruelly, and have given him up to justice,” exclaimed Charles.
“The man whom I suspect is in custody,” replied the clergyman, sinking wearily down on a chair. “I find that Mark is asleep; ’tis the best thing for him.”
“Yes, poor fellow, he has been sleeping for the last hour. The surgeon is to call again in the evening. But you look exceedingly tired, dear sir; let me bring you a glass of wine.”
“No, Charles, thank you; it is not wine that I require. I am full of anxious thought, my dear boy.” And he passed his hand across his pale forehead.
“Anxious thought for Mark?” inquired Charles.
“No; rather anxious thought concerning you.”