He was now within a foot of the bar, and introducing himself into the hole, speedily worked his way to it. "You are my prisoner. A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped. Tom swore he hadn't set eyes on him since the trial. Crack went the whip, and away floundered the heavy vehicle through the deep ruts of the ill-kept road, or rather lane, (for it was little better,) which, then, led across Southampton Fields.
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