was bull-necked and bandy-legged; his chest was broad and deep, his
head large and uncommonly thick, his eyes a little bloodshot, and his
nose _retrousse_ with a remarkably red tip. Strictly speaking, the
Baron could not be called handsome; but his _tout ensemble_ was
singularly impressive; and when he called for his boots, everybody
trembled and dreaded the worst.

"Periwinkle," said the Baron, as he encased his better leg, "let the
grave be twenty feet deep!"

"Your lordship's command is law."

"And, Perwinkle"--Sir Robert stamped his left heel into it's
receptacle--"and, Periwinkle, see that it be wide enough to hold not
exceeding two!"

"Ye--ye--yes, my lord."

"And, Periwinkle--tell Father Fothergill I would fain speak with his
Reverence."

"Ye--ye--yes, my lord."

The Baron's beard was peaked; and his mustache, stiff and stumpy,
projected horizontally like those of a Tom Cat; he twirled the one, he
stroked the other, he drew the buckle of his surcingle a thought
tighter, and strode down the great staircase three steps at a stride.

The vassals were assembled in the great hall of Shurland Castle; every
cheek was pale, every tongue was mute, expectation and perplexity were