An hour passes; an hour during which Mr. Warren, Mr. Harding, and myself, talk much, and the others listen attentively, making, now and then, a brief comment, or uttering an approving ejaculation. All except Jim. He has forced young Warren to join the conference within, and has stood on picket-duty outside, to all appearances, the least interested of any gathered there for counsel.
It is ten o'clock when we separate; the vigilants going their way silently, and one at a time, and Jim and myself returning to the cottage together.
"Ye couldn't have found six better men," says Jim, who has chosen to sustain his rôle of illiterate rustic throughout the evening. "Ye can trust 'em."
"I have given them no unnecessary information, Long. Not half so much as you have scented out for yourself. They know enough to enable them to do what will be required of them and nothing more."
"Then," with a dry laugh, "they know more than I do."
"If they know that you are actually capable of drawing the reins over the 'nine parts of speech,'" I retort, "they did not learn it from me."
"Then," with another chuckling laugh, "I fancy they don't know it."
Dr. Denham came at midnight, and Miss Barnard greeted him with a smile that ended in a sob.