“Whose face, you jade?”
“His—my brother’s. They were about the house all last night—creeping, creeping, as soft as snow on withered leaves. He feared that they would get in, and he dared not rest or sleep till daylight came; and now he is on his bed.”
Tuke strode to the end of the hall.
“Whimple!” he thundered. “Come and take my horse!”
He felt Darda’s breath at his ear, and turned to find she had come swiftly after him with her white face.
“You devil!” she hissed. “You bring the evil, and then torture my Dennis from his sleep.”
He put her sternly aside, and, twisting about for another violent summons, subsided into an “’umph!” of petulance.
The man was standing silent before him, the same scared look in his eyes that he had learned to loathe.
“Why is the house locked and sealed like this?” he demanded.
“I dared not open it, sir, till you came.”