Altogether, he had something the look of a tipstaff, or a bailiff's follower, desperately faded, but who had a notion of keeping up the appearance of a professional character, and making the best of the worst means.
'You're very snug here,' said Mr Dennis, pulling out a mouldy pocket-handkerchief, which looked like a decomposed halter, and wiping his forehead in a nervous manner.
'Not snug enough to prevent your finding us, it seems,' Hugh answered, sulkily.
'Why I'll tell you what, brother,' said Dennis, with a friendly smile, 'when you don't want me to know which way you're riding, you must wear another sort of bells on your horse.

Ah! I know the sound of them you wore last night, and have got quick ears for 'em; that's the truth.
Well, but how are you, brother ?' He had by this time approached, and now ventured to sit down by him.
'How am I ?' answered Hugh.

'Where were you yesterday?
Where did you go when you left me in the jail?
Why did you leave me?
And what did you mean by rolling your eyes and shaking your fist at me, eh ?' 'I shake my fist!--at you, brother!' said Dennis, gently checking Hugh's uplifted hand, which looked threatening.
'Your stick, then; it's all one.' 'Lord love you, brother, I meant nothing.

You don't understand me by half.

I shouldn't wonder now,' he added, in the tone of a desponding and an injured man, 'but you thought, because I wanted them chaps left in the prison, that I was a going to desert the banners ?' Hugh told him, with an oath, that he had thought so.
'Well!' said Mr Dennis, mournfully, 'if you an't enough to make a man mistrust his feller-creeturs, I don't know what is.