"There's a man in the house!" screamed Kezia. "Don't ye go out, Bess!"
"Who's there?" called the valorous Bessie, advancing again to the passage. Then she shrunk back, crying:
"Here's a young man—and here's an old 'un. They're carrying something. Don't ye go out, Kezia."
"Oh, my dear, I ain't agoing to," faltered Kezia, retiring into the far corner of the scullery.
"They'm running!" Bessie muttered. "One wur youngish, and t'other wur oldish. They ha' gone now. I heard 'em shut the gate."
"'Tis they Brocks," whispered Kezia in terror of her life.
"'Tis somebody who knew Miss Sophy wur lying ill in bed."
Bessie took the lamp and went forth boldly, calling a challenge at every step. Presently Kezia plucked up courage to follow, and they went together into the parlour.
The musical box had disappeared: so had the pair of silver candlesticks, the Russian Ikon, and various other rich and rare antiquities.
"Oh, Kezia; ain't it awful in a Christian country!" exclaimed Bessie.