"It will be better now if the young gentlemen go home through the gardens; it will be much easier for me to get through the village alone."
"Do you think they are still on guard?" asked Lorand.
"Of course they know already. One cannot take it amiss; the poor fellows have twice in ten years had their hedges broken down by the hail."
"Stupidity!" answered my brother.
"May be," sighed the old serving-man. "Still the poor man thinks so."
Lorand nudged the old retainer so that he would not speak before me.
My brain became only more confused thereat.
Lorand told him that we would soon pass through the gardens; however, after John had advanced a good distance with the cart we followed in his tracks again, keeping steadily on until we came to the first row of houses beginning the village. Here my brother began to thread his way more cautiously, and in the dark I heard distinctly the click of the trigger as he cocked his gun.
The cart proceeded quietly before us to the end of the long village street.
Above the workhouse about six men armed with pitchforks met us.