“Thank heavens, they are gone!” the publican gasped.
“Amen!” groaned Tim.
“But you surely will not keep your promise with the grim rascals?” said Bob.
“I most surely shall,” said Ned.
“But they mean you mischief,” said the publican, “you will never return alive.”
“You need not fear.”
“But, brave youth, I do fear; you know not so much of these awful creatures as I do.”
“Perhaps not, but I shall very shortly,” said Ned, laughing.
“Why, that old oak tree on the heath is the favourite spot of Death-wing, their chief.”
“So much the better, the sooner I shall make his acquaintance, then; that’s all.”