"What did you say?" she asked in a low voice. "Am I--have I--what is it?" and she passed a slow hand across her forehead.
"You fainted, Miss Wedderburn," replied Gebb, softly.
"Yes! I remember! I fainted! You asked about---- Oh, God! I know;" and she covered her eyes with one hand.
Before she could speak again, a harsh, cracked voice was heard singing in the distance:--
"The raven is the fowl for me,
He sits upon the gallows tree,
And bravely, bravely doth he sing,
In a voice so low and rich:
While flaunting in a garb of pitch
The murderer's corpse does gaily swing.
Ho! Ho! Ha! Ha! He! He! He!
The raven and the gallows tree."
"Ah!" Miss Wedderburn shivered nervously as this gruesome ditty sounded nearer, and put her fingers in her ears to shut out the singing. "It is Martin with his fearful songs!" said she, softly.
"Martin! And who is Martin?" asked Gebb, amazed at these extraordinary proceedings.
"Martin! Martin! Mad Martin!" croaked the harsh voice; and there at the window stood the crazy man, leering in a fawning manner, and holding a tin basin half full of water. Dipping his hand into this, he sprinkled a few drops towards Edith, singing tunelessly the while:--
"Weep till tears roll as a flood,
I baptise thee now with blood."
With an exclamation of annoyance Edith rose, and, snatching the basin out of the man's hand, shut the window hurriedly. Martin gave a frightened whimper and slunk away; while his mistress, soaking a handkerchief in the water, bathed her pale face. Gebb, judiciously waiting the development of events, stood quietly by, wondering, but silent.