"You can shave him, you know. Melusine tapped on it. When a mere child she fixed her affections upon a youth named Thames Darrell, whom her father brought up, and who perished, it is supposed, about nine years ago; and she has determined to remain faithful to his memory. She had dreaded the beginning of this hour. Why? Love was a word of God's, and yet her father had denied it—denied it to the Book, denied it to his own flesh and blood. That it provided proof of the girl’s identity was one thing. He's a hundred miles sou'-east of me. And how comes his cloak on this knave's shoulders?" "It is his cloak, of a surety," returned Rowland "Harkye, sirrah," continued he, haughtily interrogating Wood; "where is the person from whom you received this mantle?" "Throttling a man isn't the way to make him answer questions," replied the carpenter, doggedly.
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