A well-grown, upright, noble form, a head taller than Samuel Lynn, by whose side he is standing, with a peculiarly attractive face. Not for its beauty--the face cannot boast of very much--but for its broad brow of intellect, its firm, sweet mouth, and its truthful dark-grey eyes. None could mistake William Halliburton for anything but a gentleman, although they had seen him, as now, with a white apron tied round his waist. William was making up gloves: a term, as you may remember, which means sorting them according to their qualities--work that was sometimes done in Mr. Ashley's room, on account of its steady light, for it bore a north aspect. A table, or counter, was fixed down one side, under its windows. Mr. Lynn stood by his side, looking on. "Thee can do it tolerably well, William," he observed, after some minutes' close inspection. William smiled. The Quaker never bestowed decided praise, and never thought any one could be trusted in the making-up department, himself and James Meeking excepted. William had been exercised in the making-up for the past eighteen months, and he thought he ought to do it pretty well by this time. Mr. Lynn was turning away, when his keen sight fell on several dozens at a little distance. He took up one of the top pairs with a hasty movement, knitted his brow, and then took up others. "Thee has not exercised thy judgment or thy caution here, friend William." "I did not make up those," replied William. "Who did, then?" "Cyril Dare." "I have told Cyril Dare he is not to attempt the making-up," returned Samuel Lynn, in severe tones. "When did he do these?" "Yesterday afternoon." "There, again! He knows the gloves are not made up in a winter's afternoon. I myself would not do it by so obscure a light. Thee go over these thyself when thee has finished the stack before thee." Samuel Lynn was not one who spared work. He mixed the offending dozens together indiscriminately, and pushed them towards William. Then he turned to his own place, and went on with his work: he was also making up. Presently he spoke again. "What does thee do at the back of my house of a night? Thee must find the walk cold." William turned his head with a movement of surprise. "I don't do anything at the back of your house. What do you mean?" "Not walk about there, watching it, as thee did last night?" "Certainly not! I do not understand you." Samuel Lynn's brows knit heavily. "William, I deemed thee truthful. Why deny what is a palpable fact?" William Halliburton put down the pair of gloves he had in his hand, and turned to the Quaker. "In saying that I do not walk at the back of your house at night, or at the back of any house, I state the truth." "Last night at seven o'clock, I _saw_ thee parading there in thy cloak. I saw thee, I say, William. The night was unusually light."