“Hush,” said Lady Innisfail; “if we remain quiet we may hear it again.”
“I don’t want to hear it again,” cried Miss Stafford. “Look at the man. He knows all about it. He is one of the natives.”
She pointed to Brian, who was on his knees on the rock muttering petitions for the protection of all the party.
He knew, however, that his half sovereign was safe, whatever might happen. Miss Stafford’s remark was reasonable. Brian should know all about the Banshee and its potentialities of mischief.
“Get up, you fool!” said Edmund Airey, catching the native by the shoulder. “Don’t you know as well as I do that a boat with someone aboard is adrift in the mist?”
“Oh, I know that you don’t believe in anything.” said Brian.
“I believe in your unlimited laziness and superstition,” said Edmund. “I’m very sorry, my dear Lady Innisfail, to interfere with your entertainment, but it’s perfectly clear to me that someone is in distress at the foot of the cliffs.”
“How can you be so horrid—so commonplace?” said Lady Innisfail.
“He is one of the modern iconoclasts,” said another of the group. “He would fling down our most cherished beliefs. He told me that he considered Madame Blavatsky a swindler.”
“Dear Mr. Airey,” said Miss Stafford, who was becoming less timid as the wail from the sea had not been repeated. “Dear Mr. Airey, let us entreat of you to leave us our Banshee whatever you may take from us.”