As he did so, a shuffling noise startled the three. They turned simultaneously, in alarm, and saw a big, shock-headed country boy, apparently shaking himself awake, rising from a seat veiled in such dim obscurity that none of the little group had noticed the recumbent figure.
The boy had taken refuge from the raging tempest here, and had after a while dropped off asleep. Half-awakened by the voices, he had dimly heard the conversation.
“Please, zur,” he said, lugging at some stray locks of red hair lying on his freckled forehead, “do’ee want onybody to run a message to thay Hall, zur? ’Cause, if so be ’ee do, I be main glad to do it for your honor, zur.”
Captain Desfrayne looked at him in mingled doubt and displeasure. He reflected for a moment or two, then said:
“How would you get to the Hall, boy?”
“Why, zur, along thay dark places with thay pillars.”
“Are you sure you know the way, my lad?”
“Zartain zure, zur. Whoy, often’s been the time when me, and Bill Heath, and Joe Tollard, and all thay rest o’ ’em hev played hoide and zeek in ’em. Oh! I knows thay way, zure enough.”
It would not be possible to refuse to allow this eager substitute to go on the pressing errand he had himself contemplated. Paul Desfrayne was compelled to let him go.
“Well, make haste, and bring somebody to take care of these young ladies,” he said. “What is your name—Robin Roughhead?”