Wood's dwelling,—a plain, substantial, commodious farm-house. Ann Veronica hesitated with a question that had leaped up in her mind, and that she felt was cruel. It is the horse of the priest, you understand, and—and he does not know that I have borrowed it. The dress was her mother's, and she was wearing it to save a little extra money. His figure was uncommonly slim even for his age, which could not be more than thirteen; and the looseness of his garb made him appear thinner than he was in reality. A piece of seaweed touched her hand, tender and green. Ann Veronica listened thoughtfully, with her eyes on the turf, and now and then she asked a question or looked up to discuss a point. ‘But for how long?’ Lady Bicknacre asked apprehensively. The guards, horse and foot, and constables formed a wide circle round it to keep off the mob. .
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