" The woollen-draper made no answer, but hastily starting up, bolted the door. She's plenty clean below. White said. Supper was over. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. "What for?" demanded Wood. ’ ‘The word of whom?’ came scoffingly from the pretty lips. Wood, "it may be poisoned. Wood's," was the reply. No doubt he knew enough of his world to recognise that he stood little chance against the word of a major of militia. His body had been maimed many times.
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