“As He will—as He will.”
He was still tramping.
“But the stone,” he muttered—“the stone, the stone.”
Suddenly he paused before the servant, and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“When you took the skull to your mother,” he said, “how did you carry it?”
“Carry it, sir?”
“Carry it, I say? Did you put the grinning atrocity under your arm—under your coat—how?”
“I put it in a bag, sir.”
“What sort of bag, man; and what became of it?”
“Oh! how can I say?—Yes; I know. ’Twas a canvas thing of my sister’s; that I stole and brought home again; and she rated me that I had appropriated it, for ’twas the one in which she conveyed her treasures to the lodge—the very bag, indeed, she found there and used to stuff her relics into before she escaped last night.”