was plain he had been the leader, not only at Stilbro’ Moor, but in the attack on Sykes’s property; moreover they planned a deputation to wait on me this morning, which the tailor is to head, and which, in the most religious and peaceful spirit, is to entreat me to put the accursed thing out of my tent. I rode over to Whinbury this morning, got a constable and a warrant, and I am now waiting to give my friend the reception he deserves: here, meantime, comes Sykes: Mr. Helstone, you must spirit him up; he feels timid at the thoughts of prosecuting.”
A gig was heard to roll into the yard: Mr. Sykes entered; a tall stout man of about fifty, comely of feature, but feeble of physiognomy: he looked anxious.
“Have they been? Are they gone? Have you got him? Is it over?” he asked.
“Not yet,” returned Moore with phlegm. “We are waiting for them.”
“They’ll not come; it’s near noon: better give it up; it will excite bad feeling—make a stir—cause perhaps fatal consequences.”
“You need not appear,” said Moore. “I shall meet them in the yard when they come; you can stay here.”
“But my name must be seen in the law proceedings: a wife and family, Mr. Moore—a wife and family make a man cautious.”
