“There are a good many bones in that old churchyard. How do you know your hounds will dig up the right ones?”
“It’s sixty years since any body was buried there—until ten years ago.”
“And if you should happen to come upon these bones, and even be sure they are the right ones, how will you be sure who put them there?”
“I don’t say I shall. But at any rate it will be a step in the right direction. And I shall have my eye on any likely folk who may be about, and see how they take the discovery.”
“It seems to me you’re no better than a detective,” burst out Olivia, hotly.
“Well, I hope I’m no worse,” said Ned, laconically.
Olivia turned her head away, looking hurt and anxious.
Ned, who liked and admired the girl, felt a little sorry. He moved off with his dogs, and began to whistle; but the pain of starting again made him break short off and draw his breath sharply through his teeth. This attracted Olivia’s attention; she watched him as he labored up the hill, and before he had gone very far she ran after him.
“What’s the matter with you, Mr. Mitchell?” she asked. “You walk lame to-night. Have you hurt yourself?”
“No. And what’s that to you if I have?” he answered curtly.