“Accident! She shot me,” he muttered. Instead of which, more than half an hour has elapsed. . . “I must take them,” she said, to help herself over her own incredulity. The stoppage had materially lessened the distance between him and his pursuers, who now amounted to more than a hundred persons, many of whom carried lanterns and links. He had saluted her with elaborate civility, his eyes distended with indecipherable meanings. She was the actress his whim had chosen to play a passive part. " The stranger was for a moment lost in reflection. Baptist Kettleby (for so was the Master named) was a "goodly portly man, and a corpulent," whose fair round paunch bespoke the affection he entertained for good liquor and good living.
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