Joe brought some broken sticks and dry brushwood from the far corner where Lyon Berners had piled it up just before the flight from the chapel, and between the master and man they soon kindled a cheerful blaze that lighted up every nook and crevice of the old interior.
Then Mr. Berners turned toward the mattress to see how his wife might be sleeping.
"Why, she is not here! She has waked up and walked out," he exclaimed, in some surprise and annoyance, but not in the least alarm, for he naturally supposed that she had only left the chapel for a few minutes, and would soon return.
"Hi! whar de debbil she took herself off to, all alone, dis onlawful time o' de night?" cried Joe, in dismay.
"Oh, not far! She will soon be back again," answered Mr. Berners cheerfully. And then he took one of the blankets from the mattress and folded it up for a seat, and sat down upon it near the fire, and stretched his benumbed hands over the blaze. Joe followed his example, stretching out his hands also, and staring across the fire at his master—staring at such a rate that Mr. Berners, feeling somewhat inconvenienced, sharply demanded:
"What the deuce do you mean by that, Joe?"
"I want to go and sarch for my mistess. I don't feel satisfied into my own mind about her."
"Why, what are you afraid of, man?"
"Ghostesses."
"Absurd!"