The place was gloomy, with its darkly panelled walls, but it was sparsely furnished. It won’t even know whether to be scandalized at us or forgiving. A native of Manchester, he was the son of Kenelm Kneebone, a staunch Catholic, and a sergeant of dragoons, who lost his legs and his life while fighting for James the Second at the battle of the Boyne, and who had little to bequeath his son except his laurels and his loyalty to the house of Stuart. His shirt was unfastened, his vest unbuttoned, his hose ungartered; his feet were stuck into a pair of pantoufles, his arms into a greasy flannel dressing-gown, his head into a thrum-cap, the cap into a tie-periwig, and the wig into a gold-edged hat. "Oh no—no! You say this to terrify me—to try me. " "I'll have no explanations whatever," replied the carpenter, disdainfully, "except before a magistrate. Remember! not a word!" So saying, he huddled the mantle over Wood's shoulders, dashed the lantern to the ground, and extinguished the light.
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