He had
drawn back a little, either out of the heat of the fire or to avoid his
reverence's vinous gossip as much as possible. Except that he was
certainly neither soldier nor parson, and probably not a lawyer, I could
make nothing of him. He had a massive head and a resolute and intelligent
face. He wore no wig and his hair was grey and closely cropped. I judged
him to be a man nearing sixty, but he appeared strong and vigorous. He was
dressed with rich unostentation, in grey jacket and breeches, with a
lighter grey, silver-buttoned waistcoat, and stockings to match.
There was only one thing to be talked about in any company in Stafford
that night. What was going to happen? What of truth and substance was
there in the rumours that filled all mouths? At Master Dobson's two
currents of opinion ran violently in opposite directions. The soldiers on
my left were of course certain that the Stuart Prince and his Highland
rabble would be driven back. The towns-people opposite were equally
impressed with the fact that so far he had not been driven back but had
carried all before him.
Sir Ralph had been stoutly maintaining that the rebellion was hopeless.
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