It was the factiousness of here and there an unbroken young scoundrelly colt poacher of the neighbourhood, a born thief, a fellow damned in an inveterate taste for game, which gave him annoyance.

One night he took Master Nevil out with him, and they hunted down a couple of sinners that showed fight against odds.

Nevil attempted to beg them off because of their boldness.

'I don't set my traps for nothing,' said his uncle, silencing him.

But the boy reflected that his uncle was perpetually lamenting the cowed spirit of the common English-formerly such fresh and merry men! He touched Rosamund Culling's heart with his description of their attitudes when they stood resisting and bawling to the keepers, 'Come on we'll die for it.' They did not die.