Tchigorsky bent down and whispered three words in Ralph's ear. And not until Brant Street was reached had Ralph come back from his amazement to the land of speech.
CHAPTER IX APRIL DAYS
The terror never lifted now from the old house. There were days and weeks when nothing happened, but the garrison did not permit itself to believe that the unseen enemy had abandoned the unequal contest.
The old people were prepared for the end which they believed to be inevitable. A settled melancholy was upon them, and it was only when they were together that anything like a sense of security prevailed. For the moment they were safe—there was always safety in numbers.
But when they parted for the night they parted as comrades on the eve of a bloody battle. They might meet again, but the chances were strong against it. For themselves they cared nothing; for the younger people, everything.
It was fortunate that the fine constitutions and strong nerves of Geoffrey and Vera and Marion kept them going. A really imaginative man or woman would have been driven mad by the awful suspense. But Geoffrey was bright and sunny; he always felt that the truth would come to light some day. And his buoyant, sanguine nature reacted on the others.
Nearly a month had elapsed since the weird attempt on the life of Rupert Ravenspur; four weeks since Geoffrey's strange experience on the cliffs; and nothing had happened. The family had lapsed once more into their ordinary mode of living; blind Ralph was back again, feeling his way about the castle as usual, silent, moody, in the habit of gliding in upon people as a snake comes through the grass.