Having done the honours--I am sure looking woefully pale--I had time to
glance quietly at the only figure there with which I was not tolerably
familiar. This was the junior partner in the firm of Archer and Sleigh who
represented my uncle Silas--a fat and pallid man of six-and-thirty, with
a sly and evil countenance, and it has always seemed to me, that ill
dispositions show more repulsively in a pale fat face than in any other.
Doctor Bryerly, standing near the window, was talking in a low tone to Mr.
Grimston, our attorney.
I heard good Dr. Clay whisper to Mr. Danvers--
'Is not that Doctor Bryerly--the person with the black--the black--it's a
wig, I think--in the window, talking to Abel Grimston?'
'Yes; that's he.'
'Odd-looking person--one of the Swedenborg people, is not he?' continued
the Rector.
'So I am told.'
'Yes,' said the Rector, quietly; and he crossed one gaitered leg over the
other, and, with fingers interlaced, twiddled his thumbs, as he eyed
the monstrous sectary under his orthodox old brows with a stern
inquisitiveness. I thought he was meditating theologic battle.
Pages:
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247