"Quick! light the candles!" he breathed hoarsely. "Did any one come?"
"No one—nothing."
Having expended several matches in vain, for my fingers twitched nervously, I ultimately succeeded in relighting the candles.
"Get along to your room!" directed Smith. "Your apprehensions are unfounded at the moment, but you may as well leave both doors wide open!"
I looked into his face—it was very drawn and grim, and his brow was wet with perspiration, but his eyes had the fighting glint, and I knew that we were upon the eve of strange happenings.
CHAPTER XXIII
A CRY ON THE MOOR
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