“Where’s yon companion that wants baking by Lexden Road?”
“I am here, Wastborowe,” said Mr Ewring, rising. “Good den, friends. The Lord bless and comfort thee, my sister!”
And out he went into the summer evening air, to meet the half-tipsy gaoler’s farewell of,—
“There! Take to thy heels, old shortbread, afore thou’rt done a bit too brown. Thou’lt get it some of these days!”
Chapter Thirty Seven.
“Remember!”
Mr Ewring only returned Wastborowe’s uncivil farewell by a nod, as he walked up High Street towards East Gate. At the corner of Tenant’s Lane he turned to the left, and went up to the Castle. A request to see the prisoner there brought about a little discussion between the porter and the gaoler, and an appeal was apparently made to some higher authority. At length the visitor was informed that permission was granted, on condition that he would not mention the subject of religion.
The condition was rejected at once. Mr Ewring had come to talk about that and nothing else.