“Nothin’ ’t arl, sir.... Only, talkin’ o’ ghosts, rackon I made a pretty tidy ’un, but the fire were old Pen’s idee, though she calls it phross-phross.” So saying, Mr. Potter shouldered his bundle and trundled off in the gloom of the hedge, leaving Sir John to ride thoughtfully into Alfriston.
CHAPTER XLV
WHICH, AS THE READER OBSERVES, BEGINS AND ENDS WITH MY LORD SAYLE
My Lord Sayle tugged at the bell-rope and thereafter stared out into the sunny garden again as he had done for so long; and presently, the door opening softly, a man-servant entered who, beholding thus suddenly my lord’s intent face, checked, shrank back, and stood, the door in his hand, gazing with eyes of fearful wonder. At last, becoming aware of the servant’s presence, my lord spoke, but preserving always his rapt expression:
“Is Major Orme in the house?”
“No, my lord ... the Major left ... early this morning, my lord.”
“Well, Sir Roland Lingley?”
“My lord, he ... went with the Major.”
My Lord Sayle’s black brows twitched slightly, but he never moved, staring always out upon the sunny garden like one who saw that which no other eyes might behold.
“They left no message?”