“Mr. Potts and John.”
“Well,” said I, and I prepared to get ready.
“When do they want me?”
“Now,” said Mrs. Compton, who by this time was crying.
“Why are you so agitated?” I asked.
“I am afraid for you.”
“Why so? Can any thing be worse?”
“Ah, my dearest! you don’t know—you don’t know.”
I said nothing more, but went down. On entering the room I saw my father and John seated at a table with brandy before them. A third man was there. He was a thick-set man of about the same height of my father, but more muscular, with a strong, square jaw, thick neck, low brow, and stern face. My father did not show any actual ferocity in his face whatever he felt; but this man’s face expressed relentless cruelty.
On entering the room I walked up a little distance and stood looking at them.