You're a notorious character, my son." I began to quake.
"Parson," he went on, turning and addressing the figure in the shadow, "here's the boy.

Better make haste, if you have any questions to ask him before we get to business." There stepped forward, not Mr.Whitmore (as I was fearfully expecting), but a figure unknown to me; an old shovel-hatted man leaning on a stick and buttoned to the chin in a black Inverness cape.

I felt his eyes peering at me through the dusk.
"He seems very young to be a trustworthy witness," croaked this old gentleman in a voice which seemed to be affected by the night air.
"He's right enough," Mr.Rogers answered cheerfully.
"He shall tell his tale, then, in Mr.Whitmore's presence.

I will not yet believe that a minister of Christ's religion, whose papers-- as I have proved to you--are in order, whose testimonials are unexceptionable, who has the Bishop's licence--" "The Bishop's fiddlestick! The Bishop didn't license him to carry marked guineas in his pocket, and I don't wait for a licence to carry a warrant in mine." "You will at least afford him an opportunity of explaining before you execute it.

To be plain with you, Mr.Rogers, this business is like to be scandalous, however you look at it." "The constables shall remain outside, and the warrant I'll keep in my pocket until your reverence's doubts are at rest." Mr.Rogers gave another low whistle and two men, hitherto concealed at a little distance in the trees' shadow, stepped silently forward and joined us.