The minister motioned him to silence.
“I'll stand by you,” he whispered. “Don't speak. Leave it to me.”
A step sounded on the back step. The dining-room door was hurriedly thrown open.
“'Bishy,” called Miss Pepper eagerly. “'Bish, where are you?”
“Here—here I be, Laviny,” faltered Kyan.
His sister appeared on the threshold. She was dressed in her Sunday best, flowered poke bonnet, mitts, imitation India shawl, rustling black bombazine gown. She looked at Mr. Pepper then at the minister.
“O Mr. Ellery!” she exclaimed, “be you here?”
The Reverend John admitted his presence. Miss Pepper's demeanor surprised him. She did not seem angry; indeed, she acted embarrassed and confused, as if she, and not her brother, were the guilty party.
“I'm afraid I'm awful late, 'Bishy,” she said. “Have you had your supper?”
Kyan was too perturbed to venture a reply. The sword above his head was quivering on its single hair and he was preparing to dodge the fall. But it did not fall.