“Which will you have, that or this?”
“Oh, I’ll stop here,” was the reply.
“Then may the trumpeter forget to blow for twenty-four hours,” said the voice at Scarlett’s elbow, “and the enemy never know that we are here.”
“Amen!” came from the further room.
“And, I say,” exclaimed Scarlett’s neighbour, as he seemed to be moving about vigorously.
“Yes.”
“Don’t disturb anything. Poor ladies! it’s like sacrilege to take possession here; but when there’s a soft bed on one side and some straw on the boards of a loft on the other, one falls into temptation.”
Clump went a heavy boot on the thick rug, and then another.
“Yes. Goodnight. Don’t talk any more,” came from the inner room.
“Not I,” said Scarlett’s neighbour; and there was the sound of a sword-belt being unbuckled, and the weapon laid across a table.