"Indeed, no: but I was thinking, sir, of the cause of Christ." "Oh!" said the old gentleman shortly, and took snuff.
They were right.

Young Wesley stepped out this time with a honeyed smile, but with a new-born light in his hazel eyes--a demoniac light, lambent and almost playful.

Master Randall, caressed by them, read the danger signal a thought too late.

A swift and apparently reckless feint drew another of his slogging strokes, and in a flash the enemy was under his guard.

Even so, for the fraction of a second, victory lay in his arms, a clear gift to be embraced: a quick crook of the elbow, and Master Wesley's head and neck would be snugly in Chancery.