Don’t be afraid that I shall stunt it. "Show me your warrant!" said Wood, almost driven to his wit's-end; "perhaps it isn't regular?" "Ask him who he is?" suggested Thames. She would look up, shake her head, and then go back to her reading or crewelwork. Suddenly she felt her wrist grasped by a strong hand. He was looking pale and ill. Baptist Kettleby (for so was the Master named) was a "goodly portly man, and a corpulent," whose fair round paunch bespoke the affection he entertained for good liquor and good living. Taking the direction pointed out, he rode off. Sometimes he was obviously irritable and uncomfortable and unfortunate in his efforts to seem at ease. She was silent. She took to listening through closed doors. "I have him!" cried a voice in triumph. Such was his fury, that if he had not been restrained by the presence of the two turnkeys, he might perhaps have anticipated the course of justice, by laying violent hands upon his victim.
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