"Ay, my bairn!"
"Ye remember the murder of Father Mohl?"
"Am I like to forget it?"
"Well, I've been thinking 'twas not like a man to kill a priest like that. Do you think it might have been a black witch that was riding through the forest on a broomstick, and did it with a witch knife,—you know they have them that they copy from real ones."
"What's this talk of witches and witch knives?" It was Ralph Ingle who spoke. He stood leaning against the door, his hair falling light against his suit of huntsman's green with leather trimmings, in his hands a string of wild ducks.
"Oh, Master Ingle!" cried Cecil, jumping up and down and clapping his hands, "you have been shooting again and when, oh, when will you take me with you as you did promise?"
"When Mistress Neville grants her gracious permission; and, Cecil, do you think ever you could gain her consent to another thing?"
"What thing?"
"To her accepting me as a tenant at Cecil Point."