it was in this manner.

I was in Puckeridge one day, on a matter which I do not now remember,
and was going to the stable of the _White Hart_ inn to get my horse to
ride back again, when I ran into Mr. Rumbald who was there on the same
errand. I was in my country suit, and very much splashed; and it was
going on for evening, so he noticed nothing of me but my face.

"Why, Mallock," he cried--"It is Mr. Mallock, is it not?"

I told him yes.

He exchanged a few words with me, for he was one of those fellows who
when they have once made up their minds to a thing, do not easily change
it, and he was persuaded that I was of his kind and something of a
daredevil too, which was what he liked. Then at the end he said
something which made me question him as to what he meant.

"Have you not heard?" he cried. "Why the Popish dogs were hanged a week
ago--Ireland and Grove, I mean. And there be three or four more
men--accused by Bedloe of Godfrey's murder, and will be tried
presently."

I need not say what a horror it was to me to hear that; for I had had
more hope in my heart than I had thought. But I was collected enough to
say something that satisfied him; and, as again he had been drinking, he
was not very quick.

"And those three or four?" I asked. "Are they Jesuits too?"