“Well,” said Birger, rather hesitatingly, “Nyssen does not like to be spoken of. That is to say, the men don’t exactly like to hear people speaking of him, at least by name, if it is above the breath.”
“Come, come, Birger, be honest,” said the Parson.
“Well, if you must have it, I do not quite like it myself. I do not believe in such things, of course; but there is no good in doing what everybody thinks unlucky.”
“Well, well,” said the Captain, “but tell us what you have been about. I am quite in the dark as yet about this mysterious gentleman or lady.”
“Why, the Nyss,” said Birger, sinking his voice at the word to a whisper, “is a spirit of the air, just as the Neck (a similar whisper) is a spirit of the water.”
“The very familiars of the Lady of Branksome,” said the Parson:—
It was the Spirit of the Flood,
And he spoke to the Spirit of the Fell.
“Very likely, but our spirits, like our people, are not indifferent to the pleasures of eating and drinking; and therefore, whenever we start on an expedition, we propitiate them with an offering.”
“And the offering consists of——?”