A board cracked outside the room. He picked up the candlestick, and wrenched open his door, stepping out on to the gallery. He found himself staring at Martin, who, fully dressed, except for his shoes, and carrying a lantern, had halted in his tracks, just beyond his door, and was looking in a startled, defensive way over his shoulder. “Martin!” he exclaimed. “What the devil — ?”
“Don’t kick up such a dust!” Martin begged him, in a savage but a lowered voice. “Do you want to wake my mother?”
“What are you doing?” Gervase demanded, more softly, but with a good deal of sternness in his tone. “Where have you been?”
“What’s that to you?” Martin retorted. “I suppose I need not render you an account of my movements! I have been out!”
“ Out? ”Gervase repeated incredulously. “In this hurricane?”
“Why shouldn’t I go out? I’m not afraid of a paltry thunderstorm!”
“Be so good as to stop trying to humbug me!” Gervase said, with more acidity in his voice than his brother had ever heard. “You had the head-ache! you went early to bed!”
“Oh, well!” Martin muttered, reddening a little. “I — I recalled that — that I had an appointment in the village!”
“An appointment in the village! Pray, in which village?”
“Cheringham — but it’s no concern of yours!” said Martin sulkily.