. I despise France! If England had gone as far on the march of civilization as France did, she would hardly have retreated so shamelessly.« »You don't mean to say that besotted imperial France is any worse than bloody republican France?« demanded Helstone, fiercely. »I mean to say nothing: but I can think what I please, you know, Mr. Helstone, both about France and England; and about revolutions, and regicides, and restorations in general; and about the divine right of kings, which you often stickle for in your sermons, and the duty of non-resistance, and the sanity of war, and -« Mr. Moore's sentence was here cut short by the rapid rolling up of a gig, and its sudden stoppage in the middle of the road; both he and the Rector had been too much occupied with their discourse to notice its approach till it was close upon them. »Nah, maister, did th' waggons hit home?« demanded a voice from the vehicle. »Can that be Joe Scott?« »Ay, ay!« returned another voice; for the gig contained two persons, as was seen by the glimmer of its lamp: the men with the lanterns had now fallen into the rear, or rather the equestrians of the rescue-party had outridden the pedestrians. »Ay, Mr. Moore, it's Joe Scott. I'm bringing him back to you in a bonny pickle. I fand him on the top of the moor yonder, him and three others. What will you give me for restoring him to you?« »Why, my thanks, I believe; for I could better have afforded to lose a better man. That is you, I suppose, Mr. Yorke, by your voice?« »Ay, lad, it's me. I was coming home from Stilbro' market, and just as I got to the middle of the moor, and was whipping on as swift as the wind (for these, they say, are not safe times, thanks to a bad government!) I heard a groan. I pulled up: some would have whipt on faster; but I've naught to fear, that I know of. I don't believe there's a lad in these parts would harm me: at least I'd give them as good as I got if they offered to do it. I said, Is there aught wrong anywhere? - 'Deed is there, somebody says, speaking out of