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At an hour past noon on the same day
which witnessed the discovery of the
rifled grave, a singular scene took place
at Westbrooke Hall.

Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke was pacing up
and down his library, with hurried steps,—his
face bruised, and swollen, his eyes glaring with
rage, when suddenly there came to his ears a
strange sound from the park without,—the
sound of furious shouts, hurrying feet, and that
muffled and threatening hum, which rises from
a mass of men bent upon mischief.

At that sound, the baronet suddenly stopped,
and turned his head.

“What is that?” he muttered, with an expression
of rage and apprehension mingled.

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He hastened to the window. The spectacle
which saluted him made him recoil.

In front of the hall was a confused and
furious crowd of outlandish figures,—ragged,
with glaring eyes, fierce grins, brandished arms,—
who were hurrying towards the great door,
shouting ferociously as they came; and in front
of them, beside the enormous Goliath, who led
the attack, the baronet recognized the pale face
of Earle, who wore his full uniform.

“What devil has brought these wretches to
attack and perhaps sack my house?” cried the
baronet.

Suddenly his face grew pale.

“Has she found him and told him all, and
has he come to murder me?”

He rushed to the door, and violently called
out,—

“Wilde!”

The man had his hand on the door as the
baronet opened it. He was trembling.

“Mount and ride to the revenue station,
Wilde! Say I am attacked by these assassins—
the wolves! Kill my best horse, if necessary!
Ride, and come back with the guard at a
gallop!”

Wilde ran from the library, and disappeared

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at a side door. The baronet hastened to the
front door of the mansion, where a loud knocking
was heard.

“Open!” cried twenty voices.

And the door shook under the pressure of
huge shoulders.

The baronet replied by drawing a massive
chain across the door, and dropping a heavy bar.
The door was already locked—it was thus
triply guarded.

“Open!” howled the wolves.

“Who are you?” cried the baronet.

“Open the door! or—”

A tremendous rush was made at the oak.

“I warn you to desist!” shouted the baronet,
in a hoarse and trembling voice. “Who
comes to invade the privacy—and violate
the—”

A howl drowned the rest of the sentence.

“I am a magistrate!”

“Open!”

“This is a felony!”

The door cracked.

“I have sent for the revenue guard. Beware!
Disperse, before they charge and fire
on you!”

As he spoke, the wolves, in one huge mass

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of shoulders, backs, and arms, rushed against
the door.

It gave way, the bar snapped, the chain was
torn from its fastenings, the lock was shattered;
in a moment the wolves had poured in, irresistible
as a surge of the ocean, and furious voices
shouted,—

“Our brother! where is the wolf, our
brother!”

Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke, staggered back,
as pale as death and trembling in every limb.

“The meaning of this violence?” he muttered.
“Who is your brother?”

A howl answered him.

He looked round, expecting every moment to
be torn to pieces. His eye fell upon Earle,
who, pale and still, was looking at him.

“You too!” gasped the baronet,—“what
brings you?”

“Where is my mother?”

The baronet grew livid, and made no reply.

“Where is my mother, and the record of her
marriage which you had stolen at Martigny?”

The young man's face suddenly flushed.
Rage was gaining the mastery with him.

“I know nothing of her, or the record!”

Earle's teeth were heard grinding together.

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“Where is my mother, and that paper?” he
exclaimed, advancing as though about to throttle
the baronet. “Answer! Dare to trifle with me,
and, by heaven! though you be my father, I
will slay you as I would slay a venemous reptile!”

The baronet shrunk back, pale and trembling.

At the same instant, a tremendous shout was
heard. It issued from the side apartment,
where the wolves had discovered the corpse,
and they were seen now, pouring out, the
corpse, in its shroud, borne on their brawny
shoulders.

“Death! death!” they cried hoarsely.

And they rushed on the baronet.

As he staggered back, a loud shout was heard
without, and the clash of hooves.

“They are coming! if I can gain a few minutes!”
muttered the baronet, as pale as death.

And recoiling from the mad crowd,—

“Beware how you outrage a magistrate!” he
gasped.

The hoof-strokes came on like thunder, and
men were heard leaping to the ground.

“Wilde has met a party going the rounds:
I am saved!”

And the baronet broke from his enemies.

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As he did so, a party of the revenue guard
entered the great doorway, with drawn pistols.
At their head, tall and commanding, advanced
the Viscount Cecil.

p517-288

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