mentative expression. Mr. Lyon had placed himself in the chair against his desk, and waited with the resolute resignation of a patient who is about to undergo an operation. But his visitor did not speak.
"You have something on your mind, Mistress Holt?" he said, at last.
"Indeed I have, sir, else I shouldn't be here."
"Speak freely."
"It's well known to you, Mr. Lyon, that my husband, Mr. Holt, came from the north, and was a member in Malthouse Yard long before you began to be pastor of it, which was seven year ago last Michaelmas. It's the truth, Mr. Lyon, and I'm not that woman to sit here and say it if it wasn't true."
"Certainly, it is true."
"And if my husband had been alive when you'd come to preach upon trial, he'd have been as good a judge of your gifts as Mr. Nuttwood or Mr. Muscat, though whether he'd have agreed with some that your doctrine wasn't high enough, I can't say. For myself, I've my opinion about high doctrine."
"Was it my preaching you came to speak about?" said the minister, hurrying in the question.
"No, Mr. Lyon, I'm not that woman. But this I will say, for my husband died before your time,
