They were plain men, these two; though Mr. Garlick had been educated at
Oxford, and, before his going to Rheims, had been schoolmaster at
Tideswell. In appearance he was a breezy sunburnt man, with very little
of the clerk about him, and devoted to outdoor sports (which was
something of a disguise to him since he could talk hawking and riding
in mixed company with a real knowledge of the facts). He spoke in a loud
voice with a strong Derbyshire accent, which he had never lost and now
deliberately used. Mr. Ludlam looked far more of the priest: he was a
clean-shaven man, of middle-age, with hair turning to grey on his
temples, and with a very pleasant disarming smile; he spoke very little,
but listened with an interested and attentive air. Both were, of course,
dressed in the usual riding costume of gentlemen, and used good horses.
It was exceedingly good to sit here, with the breeze from over the moors
coming down on them, with cool drink before them, and the prospect of a
secure day, at any rate, in this stronghold. Their host, too, was
contented and serene, and said so, frankly.
"I am more at peace, gentlemen," he said, "than I have been for the past
five years. My son is in gaol yet; and I am proud that he should be
there, since my eldest son--" (he broke off a moment). "And I think the
worst of the storm is over. Her Grace is busying herself with other
matters."
"You mean the Spanish fleet, sir?" said Mr.
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