“Nonsense! it's browning you're ateing with your barley,” said Pete; and then to Kate, behind his hand, he whispered, “Whisht! It's sights she's seeing, poor thing—and no wonder, with her husband laving her so lately.”
But the third night also Mrs. Gorry returned from a similar errand, at the same hour, with the same statement.
“I'm sure of it,” she panted. She was now in terror. An idea of the supernatural had taken hold of her.
“The woman manes it,” said Pete, and he began to cross-question her. How was Mr. Christian dressed? She hadn't noticed that night, but the first night he had worn a coat like an old Manx cape. Which way was he going? She couldn't be certain which way to-night but the night before he had gone up the lane between the chapel and the garden. Had she seen his face at all? The first time she had seen it, and it was very thin and pale.
“Oh, I wouldn't deceave you, sir,” said Mrs. Gorry, and she fell to crying.
“Gough bless me, but this is mortal strange, though,” said Pete.
“What time was it exactly, Jane?” asked Kate.
“On the minute of ten every night,” answered Mrs. Gorry.
“Is there any difference in time, now,” said Pete, “between the Isle of Man and London, Kitty?”
“Nothing to speak of,” said Kate.