“I know. When he is very drunk, his mind is always running on regicide. Mike is not unacquainted with history, and it is rich to hear him going over the list of tyrants of whom, as he says, ‘the revenger of blood has obtained satisfaction.’ The fellow exults strangely in murder done on crowned heads, or on any head for political reasons. I have already heard it hinted that he seems to have a queer hankering after Moore: is that what you allude to, Sweeting?”
“You use the proper term, sir. Mr. Hall thinks he has no personal hatred of Moore; he says he even likes to talk to him, and run after him, but he has a hankering that he should be made an example of. He was extolling him to Mr. Hall the other day as the mill-owner with the most brains in Yorkshire, and for that reason he affirms he should be chosen as a sacrifice, an oblation of a sweet savour. Is Mike Hartley in his right mind, do you think, sir?” inquired Sweeting, simply.
“Can’t tell, Davy; he may be crazed or he may be only crafty—or, perhaps, a little of both.”
“He talks of seeing visions, sir.”
“Ay! He is a very Ezekiel or Daniel for visions. He came just when I was going to bed, last Friday night, to describe one that had been revealed to him in Nunnely Park that very afternoon.”
“Tell it, sir—what was it?” urged Sweeting.
“Davy, thou hast an enormous organ of Wonder
