‘That is a great deal. It would not neigh at nothing.’
He went out. Barbara told the maid to stay by the sick man, and went after Martin. She thought that in all probability the boy had arrived driving the gig.
Martin stood irresolute in the doorway. The horse that had borne the injured man had been brought into the courtyard, and hitched up at the hall door. Martin looked across the quadrangle. The moon was shining into it. A yellow glimmer came from the sick porter’s window over the great gate. The large gate was arched, a laden waggon might pass under it. It was unprovided with doors. Through it the moonlight could be seen on the paved ground in front of the old lodge.
A sound of horse-hoofs was audible approaching slowly, uncertainly, on the stony ground; but no wheels.
‘What can the boy have done with our gig?’ asked Barbara.
‘Will you be quiet?’ exclaimed Martin angrily.
‘I protest—you are trembling,’ she said.
‘May not a man shiver when he is cold?’ answered the man.
She saw him shrink back into the shadow of the entrance as something appeared in the moonlight outside the gatehouse, indistinctly seen, moving strangely.