“Two are accounted for already—one by their own devilry, and one by Dennis’s knife.”
“Would you believe it, Tuke—the man’s as haunted as if stickin’ a mongrel were murder.”
“It is to him. He hath saddled himself with a life-long ghost for my sake.”
“Folly, sir, folly. He hath not the right trick of sport. Will you rise and come to counsel? If only I could make to ‘Chatters’ for reinforcements, and take the enemy in the rear?”
“Ah, if we only could! Must I dress by candle-light?”
“Why, ’twould be rash to open the shutters and invite a bullet.”
Half-an-hour later, refreshed and re-invigorated, though still conscious of a swimming weakness, the master of “Delsrop” descended to his dining-hall. On his way he passed a little group of his maids—a bevy of frighted and tear-stained faces that appealed to him humorously and pathetically. He stopped a moment.
“Take heart, my girls,” said he. “We’ll soon be quit of trouble now I’m come to my own again.”
“God bless you, sir! We never thought to see sich doings when we took service here.”
“Why, no more did I. And I swear my service is harder than yours.”