“Saint Charity! What do you want? Holy Ragbag, what’s the matter? Is everybody in my house going stark mad?” Here the Baron fell over the stool in the dark. “Give me my candle!” he roared. “Light my candle! What business have either of you to come here?”
“Please, sir, it’s Miss Elaine I came for. Oh, me! I’ll catch my death of cold. Her door shutting waked me up-stairs. Oh, dear! Where are we coming to?”
“You old mattrass!” said Sir Godfrey. Then he turned to his daughter. But this young lady had had a little time to gather her thoughts in. So she cut short all awkward questionings with excellent promptness.
“Papa!” she began, breathlessly. “There! I heard it again!”
“Heard it? What?” cried the Baron, his eyes starting.
“It waked me up-stairs, and I ran to get you in your room, and you——”
“It—it? What’s it? What waked you?” broke in Sir Godfrey, his voice rising to a shriek.
“There it is again!” exclaimed Elaine, clasping her hands. “He’s coming! I hear him. The Dragon! Oh!”
With this, she pretended to rush for the passage, where the squeaks of Mistletoe could be heard already growing distant in the house. Away bolted Sir Godfrey after her, shouting to Elaine in terror undisguised, “Lock your door! Lock your door!” as he fled up-stairs.
So there stood Miss Elaine alone, with the coast clear, and no danger from these two courageous guardians. Then came a knock from outside, and her heart bounded as she ran through the cellar and undid the door.