The rear of the party was brought up by a large, powerfully-built man, with a bluff, honest, but rugged countenance, slashed with many a cut and scar, and stamped with that surly, sturdy, bull-dog-like look, which an Englishman always delights to contemplate, because he conceives it to be characteristic of his countrymen. He became ugly and monstrous, dunning her, threatening her, assailing her. ‘Yes, but quite my own fault. I said as how I’d tell Mr Jarvis as he wanted to take you away. Besides—there is Sir John. Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse. No offence, I hope.
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