their shoulders like a moon.

"Now, speak up, Master Short!"

"Aye, that I will--that I will: but my head is considering of
affairs," answered Master Short--he of the wryneck. "One, two,
three--" He look'd round the room, and finding but one capable of
resisting (for the potboy was by this time in a fit), clear'd his
throat, and spoke up--

"In the king's name, I arrest you all--so help me God! Now what's
the matter?"

"Murder," said I, looking up from my work of staunching Anthony's
wound.

"Then forbear, and don't do it."

"Why, Master Short, they've been forbearin' these ten minutes," a
woman's voice put in.

"Hush, and hear Master Short: he knows the law, an' all the dubious
maxims of the same."

"Aye, aye: he says forbear i' the King's name, which is to say, that
other forbearing is neither law nor grace. Now then, Master Short!"

Thus exhorted, the man of law continued--

"I charge ye as honest men to disperse!"