'Tell me,' cried Sir William sternly, 'have you ever seen your master and that fellow drest up in his cloaths in company together ?' 'Yes, please your honour,' cried the butler, 'a thousand times: he was the man that always brought him his ladies.'-- 'How,' interrupted young Mr Thornhill, 'this to my face!'-- 'Yes,' replied the butler, 'or to any man's face.

To tell you a truth, Master Thornhill, I never either loved you or liked you, and I don't care if I tell you now a piece of my mind.'-- 'Now then,' cried Jenkinson, 'tell his honour whether you know any thing of me.'-- 'I can't say,' replied the butler, 'that I know much good of you.

The night that gentleman's daughter was deluded to our house, you were one of them.'-- 'So then,' cried Sir William, 'I find you have brought a very fine witness to prove your innocence: thou stain to humanity! to associate with such wretches!' (But continuing his examination) 'You tell me, Mr Butler, that this was the person who brought him this old gentleman's daughter.'-- 'No, please your honour,' replied the butler, 'he did not bring her, for the 'Squire himself undertook that business; but he brought the priest that pretended to marry them.'-- 'It is but too true,' cried Jenkinson, 'I cannot deny it, that was the employment assigned me, and I confess it to my confusion.' 'Good heavens!' exclaimed the Baronet, 'how every new discovery of his villainy alarms me.

All his guilt is now too plain, and I find his present prosecution was dictated by tyranny, cowardice and revenge; at my request, Mr Gaoler, set this young officer, now your prisoner, free, and trust to me for the consequences.

I'll make it my business to set the affair in a proper light to my friend the magistrate who has committed him.