"I got something to show you downstairs in the parlour," he said, "an' when you've seen it, I don't much fancy you'll want to go to bed again."
So she lumbered down the stairs, and into the little parlour which had been Mrs. Mestaer's pride; and on the ample sofa, among the blood-stained linen, lay what she took to be the corpse of Millie Lutwyche.
"You got to help me make her swallow some brandy," he said, "and then you got to do what you can for her while I gallop for Dr. Fraser; but don't you meddle with that arm, because it's dislocated."
"Vrouw Lutwyche's carving?" asked Anna, with venom.
"That's it," returned Bert, pouring the brandy.
"Drunken sow! I hope you see now, Hubert, where it is the drink leads to."
"I see! I'm going to swear off drink for ever now."
"She's past brandy," said Anna, hanging over the prostrate girl.
"Nonsense!" said Bert shortly; and he managed to make her swallow a table-spoonful. "Anna," he said, "you shall have a silk gown on my wedding-day."
"If you're going to marry a willow-shaving, may the day never dawn," said Anna tartly.