"What's the matter, father!" continued the new-comer, addressing Wood. The tiles lay a foot thick in the road. "But your dreadful projects will recoil on your own head. The tears flowed faster. With me behaving as if everything was infinitely matter-of-fact, what could he do? And just then Heaven sent old Manningtree—I didn’t tell you before of the fortunate intervention of Manningtree, did I? He was looking quite infernally distinguished, with a wide crimson ribbon across him—what IS a wide crimson ribbon? Some sort of knight, I suppose. A mutual recognition took place at the same instant between the stranger and this individual. "Of yourself," he replied, in a mournful tone.
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