It appeared from what he said that he had been captured when asleep,—that his liquor had been drugged,—otherwise, he would never have allowed himself to be taken alive. Pausing with the intention of turning back, he glanced in the direction of the village church, the tower of which could just be seen through the trees. Fretting and fidgeting, he had, after an hour or so, turned to McClintock. No sterner head was ever beheld beneath the cowl of a monk, or the bonnet of an inquisitor. Will you go? You'll be paid handsomely for your trouble. .
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