This interesting subject once started, lasted for some time, and Mary was tortured with all manner of minute questions. She managed to answer them all somehow, but with so much less spirit than usual that it was plain to see something was wrong. Jackie made up his mind to ask her afterwards, and meanwhile Fraülein interfered.
“You shall not tease any more with your questions,” she said. “Mary is fatigue.”
But the questions had reminded Mary of something which till now she had forgotten—Squire Chelwood’s danger. She ought to warn Jackie; but if she did, the gypsies would come and take her away, perhaps that very night. She could not risk that. And yet, Jackie’s father! It would be too dreadful. “Ours you’ll be for ever” seemed to sound in her ear: she shuddered; no, she could not do it. Suddenly a thought struck her, and she pulled Jackie gently by the sleeve.
“Jackie,” she said softly, very softly, so that Seraminta might not hear, “where does Hamlet sleep at night?”
Hamlet was a Danish boar-hound belonging to the squire.
“Hamlet,” said Jackie. “Why, he sleeps just outside father’s bed-room door, and sometimes in the night he walks up and down the corridor, and his tail goes flop up against the door. Once father thought it was thieves.”
“I suppose Hamlet’s very strong?” said Mary earnestly.
“I should just rather think he was,” said Jackie. “He wouldn’t make much of a robber. He’d just rear up on his hind-legs and take him by the throat—so.” He launched himself forward as he spoke, and seized Patrick by the neck.
“And that would kill the robber?” asked Mary.
“Dead as a nail,” replied Jackie with decision.