'I see,' said he, advancing to the ashes, 'that you are even classical enough to burn a fire of wood. But ha! (and he started,) what do mine eyes behold beneath these embers? A bone, by all that is horrible! Perhaps part of the skeleton of some hysterical innocent, or some pathetic count, who was murdered centuries ago in the haunted apartment of this mysterious castle. Interesting relic! Speak, Lady Cherubina. Is it as I suspect?'
'Why,' said I, 'I believe—that is to say—for aught I can tell——'
''Pon my conscience,' cried Jerry, 'her ladyship knows just as well as I do that 'tis nothing but the blade-bone of mutton which she got broiled for her supper last night.'
'Impossible, Sir!' exclaimed his lordship. 'A heroine never eats of a four-footed animal. 'Tis always the leg of a lark, or the wing of a chicken.' And so saying, he began divesting himself of his spear, shield, and helmet.
'Pray, Mr. Blunderer,' whispered I to Jerry, 'did I not desire you to clean out the room?'
'You did not say a word about the blade-bone,' said Jerry.
'But did I not bid you clean out the room?' repeated I.
'Don't I tell you——' cried Jerry.
'Can't you speak low?' said I.
'Don't I tell you that not one syllable about the blade-bone ever came outside your lips?'