'I don't want to shoot any one, ma'am; no more don't Naomi. And as the danger's all over now we'd best say no more about it,' replied Sykes.
'Are you sure the danger's over?' demanded his mistress. And Horatia asked the same question with her eyes.
Sykes made her a sign, which she did not understand, and replied to Mrs Clay by saying in a soothing tone, 'Yes, ma'am, yes; the danger's quite over, if there ever was any. There's not a soul inside these park-gates except those that have a right to be; and, after all, the master can afford a little loss like this afternoon.'
Mrs Clay gave a little sigh, and said, 'I think, my dear, I'll lie down a bit, if you'll stop by me. I don't fancy bein' alone.'
And Horatia willingly went with her hostess.
CHAPTER XVIII.
NANCY PACKS UP.
Poor Mrs Clay lay down on the sofa in the drawing-room and shut her eyes. Horatia sat beside her, kicking the corner of one of the rich Persian rugs that lay about the drawing-room; not that she was in a bad temper—indeed, Horatia was rarely in a bad temper—but as an outlet to her superfluous energy.
It was pain and grief to Horatia Cunningham to sit still at any time; but this afternoon, when she felt so excited and wanted to hear all about the fire, it was a severe trial to her patience.