At length he rose up, and strode, as was his custom, through the room, moved by such a state of feeling as it was awful to look upon.

During all this time he never seemed to notice Crackenfudge, whose face, on the other hand, formed a very ludicrous contrast with that of the baronet.

There was at any time very little meaning, to an ordinary observer, in the countenance of this anxious candidate for the magisterial bench, but it was not without cunning; just as in the case of a certain class of fools, any one may recollect that anomalous combination of the latter with features whose blankness betokens the natural idiot at a first glance.

Crackenfudge, who, on this occasion, felt conscious of the valuable intelligence he was about to communicate, sat with a face in which might be read, as far at least as anything could, a full sense of the vast importance with which he was charged, and the agreeable surprise which he must necessarily give the raging baronet.

Not that the expression, after all, could reach anything higher than that union of stupidity and assurance which may so frequently be read in the same countenance.
"A' see, Sir Thomas," he at length said, "that something has vexed you, and a'm sorry to see it." The baronet gave him a look of such fury, as in a moment banished not only the full-blown consciousness of the important intelligence he was about to communicate, but its very expression from his face, which waxed meaningless and cowardly-looking as ever.
"A' hope," he added, in an apologetical tone, "that a' didn't offend you by my observation; at least, a' didn't intend it." "Sir," replied the baronet, "your apology is as unseasonable as the offence for which you make it.