“Niver a sowl but yersilf, sir.”
“You’re a sensible boy, Pat. Here’s a shilling for you—and, look here, Pat, if you keep dark upon the matter till after breakfast to-morrow and don’t open your lips to a living soul about it, I’ll give you half a crown.”
“Thank yer honour.”
“Now mind—no hints to the police; no remarks to your master. Be dumb, in fact, from this moment, else I won’t give you a penny.”
“Sure I’ve forgot all about it already, sir,” said the boy, with a wink so expressive that Harry felt his word to be as good as his bond, and went back to the parsonage laughing.
Arrived there, he went in search of his sister, but found that she was out.
“Just as well,” he muttered, descending to the dining-room with his hands deep in his pockets, a pleased expression on his handsome mouth, and a stern frown on his brows. “It would not be safe to make a confidant of her in so delicate a matter. No, I’ll do it all alone. But how to do it? That is the question. Shall I invite the aid of the police? Perish the thought! Shall I consult the Pater? Better not. The dear, self-devoted man might take it out of my hands altogether.”
Harry paused in profound meditation. He was standing near the window at the time, with the “statters” on either hand of him.
They were complete suits of armour—one representing a knight in plate armour, the other a Crusader in chain-mail. Both had been in the family since two of the Stronghand warriors had followed Richard of the Lion Heart to the East. As the eldest brother of the Reverend Theophilus was in India, the second was on the deep, and the lawyer was dead, the iron shells of the ancient warriors had naturally found a resting-place in the parsonage, along with several family portraits, which seemed to show that the males of the race were prone to look very stern, and to stand in the neighbourhood of pillars and red curtains in very dark weather, while the females were addicted to old lace, scant clothing, and benign smiles. One of the warriors stood contemplatively leaning on his sword. The other rested a heavy mace on his shoulder, as if he still retained a faint hope that something might turn up to justify his striking yet one more blow.
“What would you advise, old man?” said Harry, glancing up at the Crusader with the mace.