"By no means," he answered. "I was pursuing an oakeggar just by that swampy patch of ground on the other side of the avenue. Surely you have not seen someone unauthorised prowling about the park?"
"Yes. That is - it was the Monk. I knew I couldn't be mistaken. That horrible cowl… ! I'm sorry, but really I feel rather groggy. Would you mind coming with me as far as the house?"
"My dear young lady! Of course, of course, but your eyes must have deceived you. Pray take my arm! Quite impossible, Miss Fortescue. I saw no monk, and surely I must have done so had there been one."
She shook her head. "You might not. There are so many bushes. I couldn't have been deceived. I saw it plainly."
"Nerves, my dear Miss Fortescue, nothing but nerves. You must not let yourself believe in these silly ghost-tales. Why, you are quite upset by it! This will not do at all! Now I will pull the bell, and in a moment you will be inside, and quite safe."
The bell clanged noisily in answer to Mr. Titmarsh's vigorous tug, and almost at once quick steps sounded within, and Peter himself opened the door. "That you, Margaret? I began to think you must have had a — good Lord, what's the matter?"
She grasped his coat weakly, and gave a small uncertain laugh. "Oh Peter, I've seen the Monk! For goodness sake let me sit down; I feel like a piece of chewed string."
Mr. Titmarsh clucked rather like an old hen. "I saw Miss Fortescue running up the avenue, and went at once to her assistance. I am afraid she is a little over-wrought: she seems to have caught sight of something which she took for the Monk. Possibly a shrub, or even, though I should be grieved indeed to think so, myself."
Peter slipped his arm round Margaret. "Come in, sir. Very good of you to escort her. Buck up, old lady: it's all right now." He half-led, half-carried her into the library, and put her down into the nearest chair. "Like a drink, Sis? Feeling all right?"
Celia sprang up. "Margaret! What's the matter, darling? Oh, good heavens, don't say you've seen it!"