"Yes, Sir, and will do more mischief yet, they're a bad, desperate set, the lot that's here this year."
"I suppose you are keeping this man company, or looking after him in his drunken state. You would scarcely be going home alone at this late hour of the evening?"
"No, Sir. I am going home. I've been up to the Hall, and stayed there longer than I ought."
"It is too late a great deal for you to be out, and the whole country round about swarming with poachers."
"True, Sir. But I shan't go before my time—"
"Nonsense!" interrupted Charles. "Come, I tell you what; I'll see you home, I have nothing better to do; but first get that man safely housed somewhere, do not leave him out here to be run over."
"Oh! I'll soon settle him, sir."
And while Charles Linchmore struck a light and lit another cigar, Grant went once more into the cottage.
Opening a door, he called up the stairs, "Mrs. Marks! Here's your husband. I've brought him home rather unsteady on his pins; you'd better come down and see after him at once afore he gets into mischief."
"He is! Is he?" screamed a shrill voice from the top. "I expected as much. I warrant I'll soon make him steady again!"