Arctura turned and looked at Donal.
“We must be careful,” he said.
“We must,” she answered. “Just thereabout is one of the few places in the house where you hear the music.”
“And thereabout the music-chimney goes down! That is settled! But why should my lord be frightened so?”
“I cannot tell. He is not like other people, you know.”
“Where else is the music heard? You and your uncle seem to hear it oftener than anyone else.”
“In my own room. But we will talk to-morrow. Good night.”
“I will remain here the rest of the evening,” said Donal, “in case Simmons might want me to help with his lordship.”
It was well into the night, and he still sat reading in the library, when Mrs. Brookes came to him. She had had to get his lordship “what he ca’d a cat—something or ither, but was naething but mustard to the soles o’ ’s feet to draw awa’ the blude.”
“He’s better the noo,” she said. “He’s ta’en a doze o’ ane o’ thae drogues he’s aye potterin’ wi’—fain to learn the trade o’ livin’ for ever, I reckon! But that’s a thing the Lord has keepit in ’s ain han’s. The tree o’ life was never aten o’, an’ never wull be noo i’ this warl’; it’s lang transplantit. But eh, as to livin’ for ever, or I wud be his lordship, I wud gie up the ghost at ance!”