But you—you have a good face. ‘I’ll wager that militiaman never rode the animal, then. A white apron was tied round his waist, and into the apron was thrust a short thick truncheon, which looked very much like a rolling-pin. Ennison spoke at last. Soot was everywhere, for the lamp would not stay trimmed in the gale. ‘Would you have me face my maker with that on my conscience? If I’d died, there’d have been no one to tell you, for your father would not have done. Come with me, Langley, and bring the lantern. At Christmas he gave her a set of a small edition of Meredith’s novels, very prettily bound in flexible leather, being guided in the choice of an author, as he intimated, rather by her preferences than his own.
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