"Excuse me, sir. I said he was a witch."
"Your saying that he was a witch--or wizard," remarked the governor, dryly, "will not, I fear, be sufficient excuse, in the eyes of the commissioners, for your throwing a pail of water over the chaplain."
"But a man's not answerable for what he does when he's bewitched," persisted the chief warder, with characteristic sturdiness.
"It is exactly that reflection which has constrained me to return."
They looked up. There was the chaplain standing in the doorway--still with his handkerchief to his nose.
"Mr. Murray, you threw a pail of water over me. If you assert that you did it under the influence of witchcraft, I, who have myself been under a spell, am willing to excuse you."
"Mr. Hewett, sir, you yourself know I was bewitched."
"I do; as I believe it of myself. Murray, give me your hand." The chaplain and the chief warder solemnly shook hands. "There is an end of the matter as it concerns us two. Major Hardinge, do I understand you to assert that you too were under the influence of witchcraft?"
This was rather a delicate inquiry to address to the Major. Apparently the Major seemed to find it so.
"I don't know about witchcraft," he growled; "but I am prepared to take my oath in any court in England that I had no more intention of striking you than I had of striking the moon."