Then he glanced over the scene, taking stock of the company preparatory to his work of clearing the room.
Nearest to him, on his right hand, stood the young colossus, Samson Longman, leaning over the chair of poor old Dandy, who sat with his bald head dropped and his withered face hidden in the palms of his hands.
These two men were both strangers to Mr. Leegh, who did not feel inclined to commence his work of expulsion with the giant or his immediate protégé.
A little further off, on his left, stood a group of three—Ran, Mike and Will Walling—talking together. These were also strangers to Mr. Leegh, who did not feel disposed to begin with them either.
Still further off, straight before him, at the other end of the room, was another group, each individual of which he recognized. These were the Rev. Mr. and Mrs. Campbell, and their daughter, Jennie, whom he had often visited at their parsonage in Medge; and to Mr. Campbell he had but lately written, as the reader may remember, warning him to leave the rectory, to which he himself—Leegh—had been appointed.
Here, then, was his opportunity. He would begin with these.
The rector—as we must call him now, since his induction into the Haymore living by Mr. Randolph Hay—was seated on a corner sofa with his wife and daughter, the latter sitting between her father and her mother, with her distressed face hidden in that mother’s bosom. Yet Leegh had instinctively recognized her as well as her parents.
He went up, nodded to Mr. Campbell and offered his hand.
The rector bowed in return, but did not take Leegh’s hand.
“I am surprised to see you here this evening, sir. How do you do, Mrs. Campbell? I hope Miss Jennie is quite well,” said Leegh in an offhand way, not choosing to notice the rector’s coolness, not knowing or suspecting that he was the rector.