| 571 | 572 | 573 | 574 | 575 |
| 1 | 236 | 472 | 708 | 944 |
|
These gestures, all the more imperious for their silence, meant, "Follow
me."
Pro signo exeundi, sursum trahe, says the old Norman record.
He who was touched by the iron weapon had no right but the right of
obedience. To that mute order there was no reply. The harsh penalties of
the English law threatened the refractory. Gwynplaine felt a shock under
the rigid touch of the law; then he sat as though petrified.
If, instead of having been merely grazed on the shoulder, he had been
struck a violent blow on the head with the iron staff, he could not have
been more stunned. He knew that the police-officer summoned him to
follow; but why? That he could not understand.
On his part Ursus, too, was thrown into the most painful agitation, but
he saw through matters pretty distinctly. His thoughts ran on the
jugglers and preachers, his competitors, on informations laid against
the Green Box, on that delinquent the wolf, on his own affair with the
three Bishopsgate commissioners, and who knows?--perhaps--but that
would be too fearful--Gwynplaine's unbecoming and factious speeches
touching the royal authority.
He trembled violently.
Dea was smiling.
573
Page
Quick Jump
|