‘I knowed he were a wrong ’un, but that. “You shall go,” he declared. His face was aquiline but sweet, the years had not yet taken the blush from his cheeks and his lips were similarly rubefacient. You can come back for these, for you’ll carry him to the gatehouse, that’s what you’ll do. Uttering a few inarticulate ejaculations,—for he was completely out of breath,— the fugitive placed a bundle in the arms of the carpenter, and, regardless of the consternation he excited in the breast of that personage, who was almost stupified with astonishment, he began to divest himself of a heavy horseman's cloak, which he threw over Wood's shoulder, and, drawing his sword, seemed to listen intently for the approach of his pursuers.
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