"And what then?" said Michael, in a stern, hollow voice.
The seneschal trembled. "I—I—only want to know how they are to be received," said he.
"Received?" cried the Master, raising his voice to a pitch that made the old wretch shrink as it were within himself. "Received? As spies should, to be sure. Begone!"
Gourlay ran cowering toward the door.
"Stop.—Come back here. What forces are in the castle?"
"What forces? Hem! Great Master, you only know."
"Any things of flesh, I inquire?"
"No, not one; if you except the old witch Henbane. Oh! I beg your pardon, great and honoured master! I meant your worthy and respectable housekeeper."
Michael gave three gentle tramps with his heel, and in one moment the three pages in black livery, Prig, Prim, and Pricker, were at his knee.