“Ah! You are not Savili Ilivich, thank God. I Sir, I am the gardener from over there.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I came on a real errand, Sir. Our clock has stopped, and I came here to wait for the church-clock to strike.”
“Devil take you,” cried Mark, and gave the man a push that sent him reeling.
The man sprang over the ditch, and vanished in the darkness.
Raisky, meantime, returned to the main entrance. He tried to open the door, not wishing to knock for fear of awaking his aunt. “Marina,” he called in a low voice, “Marina, open!”
The bolt was pushed back. Raisky pushed open the door with his foot. Before him stood—he recognised the voice—Savili, who flung himself upon him and held him.
“Wait, my little dove, I will make my reckoning with you, not with Marina.”
“Take your hands off, Savili, it is I.”
“Who, not the Master?” exclaimed Savili, loosening his prisoner. “You were so good as to call Marina? But,” after a pause, “have you not seen her.”