"There!" said Dick. "We are safe, you see. All that talk of ghosts is pure balderdash."
The darkness and the weird associations of the spot combined to make him set his tone of voice to a murmur. At that moment there fell upon the ears of the boys, as they stood side by side to recover breath after their climb, a low sound from somewhere beyond the walls, but not far away. It was like that of a person speaking in hollow, mournful accents. Sam caught Dick by the arm; Dick heard his teeth chatter.
"'Tis he!" whispered the trembling boy. "'Tis the ghost! Oh! let me hide myself afore he see I."
Dick did not reply. He was, it must be confessed, sufficiently startled. The sound ceased; but in a moment or two it recommenced, now being somewhat louder. Dick was in two minds, now thinking that he would run, now wondering whether he had not better stay. The slow droning still approached, and at last he caught articulate words:
"A-deary me! A-deary me! The world's a-cold, a bitter place for——"
The next words were indistinguishable.
"Hark to him!" whispered Sam. "He be in mortal pain, and I do feel that leery all down the small o' my back."
Dick sniffed, and sniffed again. Then he said:
"Ghosts don't smoke, Sam—at any rate, not tobacco. I'm going to see."
"How do 'ee know?" whispered Sam, still holding him by the arm. "I won't be so much afeard of him if he do be smoking bacca, but it may be summat else. It do smell rayther strong for a livin' man."