“’Twould be more to the purpose, sir, with all thanks to you for your hospitality,” replied the brigadier, “if you would assist his Majesty’s troops in the execution of their duty, instead of doing what you can to impede them.”
“How say you, sir? What mean you?” retorted the parson sturdily, as he turned upon them, apparently glad to find that things had so quickly come to a crisis.
He had led his visitors into the little dining-parlor, which was one-half of the lower part of what had once been a fine hall. The roof was low, and the beams were roughly whitewashed like the rest of the ceiling. A small window, with latticed panes, was set in the thickness of the wall on the front side of the house. Opposite the door was the old wide hearth, the upper part filled with curiously carved woodwork, and a comfortable wooden armchair in the corner on each side. On the high shelf above were a couple of brass candlesticks, each containing a tallow candle, in that time of rushlights quite a luxurious extravagance. On the oak dining-table in the middle of the room were the parson’s writing materials, his bunch of quills, round jar of ink, half a dozen rough sheets of paper, and a sand-box. And beside them was his pipe, just laid down.
Two strips of carpet laid on the stone floor; red window curtains; half a dozen solid oak chairs with tapestry seats, and a couple of ancient oak chests, completed the furniture of the room, which yet had a comfortable and homely aspect.
“What mean you by saying I impede his Majesty’s troops in the execution of their duty?” repeated Parson Langney, standing in all the pugnacious dignity of the church militant, with his back to the fire, and his wig more on one side than ever.
“You was in a mighty hurry, sir, this morning, to get to Rede Hall before we could reach it with the warrants we hold for the arrest of certain plunderers of his Majesty’s revenue,” blurted out the brigadier, planting one hand on his hip, and thumping the table with the other as he spoke.
Parson Langney was no actor; the expression which clouded his jolly face betrayed him.
“Sir, I was at Rede Hall this morning, I admit,” said he, looking defiantly at the officer. “But as for what I did there, you have no right to put such an interpretation as you do upon my visit.”
“Do you deny, sir, that you mentioned we were on our way thither?” roared the brigadier.
“I deny, sir, that you have any right to put such questions to me,” retorted the parson quite as loudly.