At this moment, the landlord of the Crown, a jovial-looking stout personage, with a white apron round his waist, issued from the house, bearing a large wooden bowl filled with ale, which he offered to Jack, who instantly rose to receive it. So, in broken, rather breathless phrases, he told his story; and when he had done, he laid his arms upon the table and bent his head to them. We aren’t afraid; we don’t bother. The cart, meantime, had approached the fatal tree. But Sheppard was not to be silenced. As she talked, the drift and significance of what she was saying shaped itself slowly to Ann Veronica’s apprehension.
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