Preston Fight; or, The Insurrection of 1715. William Harrison Ainsworth

any doubts, pray search the house—question the servants—take any steps you think proper.

      “I intend to do so, sir,” rejoined the sheriff dismounting, and giving his horse to the groom.

      Jesmond likewise dismounted, and followed him.

      On the steps the sheriff encountered Newbiggin, and some others of the servants, who corroborated Charles Radclyffe's assertions; and in the entrance hall he found Father Norham, with whom he was acquainted, and whom he respectfully saluted.

      “Your reverence knows my business,” he remarked. “Will you aid me?”

      “You cannot expect me to do so, Sir William,” replied the priest. “But I will tell you frankly, that no one is concealed here.”

      “Has the Pretender fled?” demanded the sheriff.

      “The Pretender has never been here, Sir William.”

      “This is mere equivocation, sir,” cried the sheriff. “I will not be trifled with. I will search the house from top to bottom, but I will find him. Come with me!” he added to Newbiggin.

      Attended by the butler, and assisted by Jesmond, he then went upstairs, and peered into a great many rooms, but soon gave up the fruitless search.

      “I told you how it would be, Sir William,” observed the priest, amused by his discomfited air, as he returned to the hall. “This is a large house, and if you were to search every room in it you would find it a tedious business. Once more, I tell you the person you seek is not here.”

      “Will you tell me whither he is gone?”

      “No; you must find that out for yourself, Sir William. You will act wisely if you abandon the quest altogether.”

      “No—no! that must not be,” cried the sheriff.

      “Certainly not, Sir William,” said Jesmond. “Leave me to make further investigations. I warrant you I'll discover something.”

      Receiving permission to do as he pleased, Jesmond proceeded to the stables, and in about ten minutes came back to the sheriff, whom he found in the court-yard.

      The smile on his countenance betokened success.

      “I've found it all out, Sir William,” he cried. “You won't be disappointed. A large party on horseback left this morning—but the Pretender was not one of them.”

      “Then he is here, still?”

      “No, Sir William; he went away in Sir John Webb's coach.”

      “In a coach!—then we may overtake him!”

      “Undoubtedly. The carriage is large and heavy, and doesn't travel more than three or four miles an hour. We shall catch him before he gets to Morpeth.”

      “Is he gone in that direction?”

      “He is, Sir William. I told you I'd find out something, and you must own that I've managed to put you on the right scent.”

      “You have,” cried the sheriff, jumping on his horse. “Follow me, gentlemen!—follow me!”—he called out to the yeomen, who had been waiting all this time outside the gate.

      Next minute they were rattling down the avenue, with the sheriff at their head.

      We may be sure Jesmond was not left behind.