was not only good, but elegant, made a note. He respected his audacity
and his mystery, and he wondered intensely what was going on in that
small skull under the light and glossy hair, and anxiously guessed how
vitally it might possibly affect him, and wondered what his schemes were
after the election--_quiescere faciam superbiam potentium_; and more
darkly about his relations with Mark Wylder--_Princeps induetur maerore_.

His eye was on the window now and then it dropped, with a vague presage,
upon the sleek head of the daring and enigmatical captain, reading the
Litany, from 'battle, murder, and sudden death, good Lord deliver us,'
and he almost fancied he saw a yellow skull over his shoulder glowering
cynically on the Prayer-book. So the good attorney prayed on, to the
edification of all who saw, and mothers in the neighbouring seats were
specially careful to prevent their children from whispering or fidgeting.

When the service was over Captain Lake went across to Mr. Sparks, and
asked him to come to Brandon to lunch. But the clothier could not, and
his brougham whirled him away to Naunton Friars. So Stanley Lake walked
up the little aisle toward the communion table, thinking, and took hold
of the railing that surrounded the brass monument of Sir William de
Braundon, and seemed to gaze intently on the effigy, but was really
thinking profoundly of other matters and once or twice his sly sidelong
glance stole ominously to Jos. Larkin, who was talking at the church door
with the good vicar.

In fact, he was then and there fully apprising him of his awful
situation; and poor William Wylder looking straight at him, with white
face and damp forehead, was listening stunned, and hardly understanding a
word he said, and only the dreadful questions rising to his mouth, 'Can
_anything_ be done? Will the people come _to-day_?'