The moment he was out in the hall, Ruth sat up hugging and rocking her body in delight. Wood was heard without, angrily demanding admittance. Here, Jem, take the gentleman's horse to the stable—see him dressed and fed directly. She was not afraid of violence, but she was afraid of something mean, some secondary kind of force. On the right, stood a bulky figure, with a broken rattle hanging out of his great-coat pocket, who held up a lantern to his battered countenance to prove to the spectators that both his orbs of vision were darkened: on the left, a meagre constable had divested himself of his shirt, to bind up with greater convenience a gaping cut in the arm.
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