Leonidas Force and Roland Bayard indignantly threw off the detaining hands, and stared haughtily at their captors.

“Take it easy, young gentlemen, and you shall be treated as such,” said old Tom Bowen, a grave, gray-haired, most respectable old man, an elder in the church and county constable for many years.

“‘Take it easy!’ Take what easy? If it were not for your age and piety, I should think you were drunk or crazy, Mr. Bowen! What is the meaning of all this, anyhow?” demanded Leonidas.

“Oh, don’t you see it’s all a funny mistake, Force? They have waked up the wrong passengers. They are after some other parties. The thieves that stole Tom Grandiere’s young horse, I reckon. But, great Neptune! do we look like horse thieves? Say! Who are you wanting, anyhow, you blooming boys?” demanded Roland, in all sincerity.

The two constables sat down, and “Old Bowen,” as he was always called, deliberately drew from his capacious pocket a formidable-looking document, which he unfolded, saying:

“I hold here a warrant issued by Abel Force, Esq., of Mondreer, justice of the peace for the county, commanding me to arrest and bring before him the body of Leonidas Force, of Greenbushes, to answer the charge of a breach of the peace by sending a challenge to fight a duel to one Col. Anglesea, at present a resident of this county. You can take my warrant in your own hands and read it with your own eyes, if you wish to do so, young gentleman,” said the mild, old officer, handing the verbose document to which he so briefly referred to the midshipman.

Le took it mechanically, and stared at it without reading a line. He was simply amazed at the event, and wondering with all his might how the carefully guarded secret of his sending the challenge to the colonel at the Calvert Hotel could have become known to Squire Force, at Mondreer.

Meanwhile, the old constable was not idle. He drew from that deep receptacle, his riding-coat pocket, a second document, which he unfolded and handed to Roland Bayard, saying:

“There, sir, is a warrant for your arrest upon very much the same sort of charge—a breach of the peace in taking a challenge from Mr. Leonidas Force to Col. Angus Anglesea. You also can read it, if you wish.”

“But I never delivered the challenge,” said Roland, laughing at what seemed to him to be a solemn farce. “I never got a chance to deliver it. It is in my pocket at this moment. But I reckon it better not stay there, to rise up in judgment against us,” he added, sotto voce, as he arose, went to the fire, drew the white paper torpedo from his vest pocket and dropped it into the flames, where it was instantly burned to ashes.

The constables did not attempt to prevent this destruction. Probably they did not even notice the act. Indeed, the second officer, a dull-looking young man, with a red head and freckled face, did not seem to take any part in the business of the hour.

“Now, then, you see what I have got to do. I have got to do, and ‘fail not at my peril,’ mind you. Though what peril I should risk in not executing of a warrant is more than I know, long as I have been in the county’s service; and very few warrants have I ever had to serve, and that’s a fact; and very sorry I am to have to do this, moreover.”

“You must do your duty, Mr. Bowen. Neither I nor my friend here will offer any further opposition to it,” said Le, good-humoredly. Then, turning to his companion, he added, sorrowfully:

“Oh, Roland, good, old boy, I am so cut up at the thought of having got you into this mess!”

“Don’t turn into a blooming idiot, Le. I am glad to be with you in everything. You know it,” said Roland, heartily.

“I do know it!” exclaimed Le, pressing his friend’s hand.

“Oh, see these boys!” sighed the old man; “these boys I have known ever since they wore short jackets and check ap’ons! But don’t fret, lads. ’Twon’t go hard with you. And it’s a heap better, anyhow, than if you’d been left to your own devices to-day, and fought your duel and killed your man, and had to be arrested for murder to-morrow. Now, that might o’ been serious.”

“But there was a good chance that I might have been killed myself,” suggested Le.

“D‘y’ call that ‘a good chance’? Oh, you misguided young man!” cried the elder. “To be hurried into the presence of your Maker with murder in your heart! But I won’t lecture, Mr. Le. I will leave that to the squire. He can, and I reckon he will. Now, then, young gentlemen, maybe we had better be moving. There is a carriage at the door—a most comfortable close carriage—sent by the squire himself. Ah, he had a care for you both, the good squire had. ‘Do your necessary duty as kindly as you can, Bowen,’ says he to me, he says, after he had put the papers in my hands with his own, and explained what I was to do. And I answered: ‘Squire, do you think being county constable for nigh on to fifty years has made a brute beast of old Tom Bowen? Do you suppose that I could handle harsh the two lads I’ve knowed since they wore check ap’ons? The one lad as growed up in your house? And the other lad as I helped to resky myself when the schooner Blue Bird was wrecked on the shore?’ But there! It’s no use talking. People say I’m getting too old for my office. Well, let ’em. I mean to hold on to it as long as I can read a warrant or ride a horse. If only to pervent some one taking my place who will be hard on skipple-skapple young uns like you.”

“Mr. Bowen, you have had a long ride. Won’t you take some home-brewed beer and bread and cheese before you go?” inquired Le.

The dull young man of the red head and freckled face looked up expectantly, but the old constable shook his head, and answered, solemnly:

“No, Mr. Leonidas; not when on duty. No, sir. If I did, there be some who would say I was taking a bribe.”

The dull young man of the red head and freckled face dropped his head and looked disappointed.

Leonidas and Roland had by this time put on their overcoats, drawn on their gloves and taken up their hats.

They now said that they were ready to go.

“Come, Bill. Have you gone to sleep there?” inquired the old man of his dull comrade.

The latter got up slowly from his seat, and the little party left the room.

Luke was in the hall, and opened the outer door.

“We are going out on business, Luke, and I shall not be home before night,” said Le.

The old servant bowed, without the least suspicion of what the nature of that business could be.

The party left the house, entered the carriage, the young officer mounting the box, and the elder riding inside with the young men; and they took the road to Mondreer—the same pleasant road through the pine woods and across Chincapin Creek Bridge, that Le and his cousins had so often traveled on foot, or horseback, or in a carriage.

It was but half an hour’s ride, and at the end of that time they drew up before the door of Mondreer.

Old Bowen alighted first; Leonidas and Roland followed.

“You drive the carriage round to the stable, and keep it there for us to go back to town in,” said the old officer to the younger one, who was on the box. “And keep a still tongue in your head, mind you!” he added, in a whisper, to his subordinate, who nodded, and drove off toward the stables.

Old Jake met the party at the door, and said:

“Marster wishes you ge’men to walk right on inter de liberary; and dis is de way,” he added, with a bow and a flourish of his arm, as he walked on before and opened the door leading into the rear room, which was Mr. Force’s sanctum.