“Don’t laugh, sir, please;” said the man imploringly. “It’s too awful. I see ’em as plain as I see you two gentlemen standing there.”
“And who were they?” continued Dickenson; “the brothers Fetch?”
“No, sir; two old comrades of mine who ’listed down Plymouth way when I did. We used to be in the same football team. They both got it at Magersfontein, and they’ve come to tell me it’s going to be my turn now.”
“Bah!” growled Dickenson. “Did they say so?”
“No, sir; they didn’t speak,” said the man, shivering; “but there they were. I knew Tom Longford by his big short beard, and the other must have been Mike Lamb.”
“Oh, here you are,” said the captain of the company. “You can go back to quarters, and be ready to appear before the colonel in the morning.”
“One moment, Captain Edwards,” said Lennox gravely. “You’ll excuse me for speaking. This man is only just off the sick list; he is evidently very ill.”
“Oh yes, I know that, Mr Lennox,” said the officer coldly; “he has a very bad complaint for a soldier. Look at him. Has he told you that he has seen a couple of ghosts?”
“Yes. He is weak from sickness and fasting, and imagined all that; but I feel perfectly certain that he has seen some one prowling about here.”
“Ghosts?” said the captain mockingly.