“Well, go on, then.”
“I will, sir. I went into the kitchen, and the women was all talking about it. Her ladyship’s maid was the one who heard it, yes’day morning, before breakfast.”
“Heard what?”
“Groans, sir, and cries.”
“Where?”
“That’s what they can’t make out. All she could say was that it sounded close to the best bedroom, and it was as if somebody was crying for help in a weak voice, and then shouting, ‘Red—red!’ which they think means blood.”
“Stuff and rubbish, Nat!” cried Fred, hastily.
“That’s what I said to them, sir.”
“Then go and tell them so again,” cried Fred. “Come along, Scar; I want a run.”
He hurried his companion away, and they went off down to the lake, leaving Nat staring after them before going slowly away toward the garden, muttering to himself—