They both listened, but heard nothing.
“I tell you what,” said Benjamin, taking down a lantern. “I’ll have a look round before I go to bed myself, for satisfaction’s sake. Undo the door while I light this, Clemmy.”
Clemency complied briskly; but observed as she did so, that he would only have his walk for his pains, that it was all his fancy, and so forth. Mr. Britain said ‘very likely;’ but sallied out, nevertheless, armed with the poker, and casting the light of the lantern far and near in all directions.
“It’s as quiet as a churchyard,” said Clemency, looking after him; “and almost as ghostly too!”
Glancing back into the kitchen, she cried fearfully, as a light figure stole into her view, “What’s that!”
“Hush!” said Marion, in an agitated whisper. “You have always loved me, have you not!”
“Loved you, child! You may be sure I have.”
“I am sure. And I may trust you, may I not? There is no one else just now, in whom I can trust.”
“Yes,” said Clemency, with all her heart.
“There is some one out there,” pointing to the door, “whom I must see, and speak with, to-night. Michael Warden, for God’s sake retire! Not now!”