"I would treat him as you treated his father, Sir Rowland. " "Here!" ejaculated Wood, with a look of alarm. “Mean as an old mule, too. "I'm at your mercy, Poll," rejoined Kneebone, abjectly. Trodger was lying in wait at the bottom of the narrow stairs. She was aware of the body of the court, of clerks seated at a black table littered with papers, of policemen standing about stiffly with expressions of conscious integrity, and a murmuring background of the heads and shoulders of spectators close behind her. “Come this way,” he said. " She rose. On reaching the churchyard, he perceived the melancholy procession descending the hill.
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