"But where--where did he see him?" the girl asked. She still trembled.
Once more I had to tell the tale; Mistress Anne, as was natural, listening to it with the liveliest emotions. And this time so much of the ghost story had to be introduced--for she pressed me closely as to where I had left Clarence, and why I had let him go--that my assurances got less credence than ever.
"I think I see how it is," she said, with a saucy scorn that hurt me not a little. "Master Carey's nerves are in much the same state to-night as Dymphna's. He thought he saw a ghost, and he did not. He thought he saw Dymphna, and he did not. And he thought he saw Master Clarence, and he did not."
"Not so fast, child!" cried the Duchess sharply, seeing me wince. "Your tongue runs too freely. No one has had better proofs of Master Carey's courage--for which I will answer myself--than we have!"
"Then he should not say things about Dymphna!" the young lady retorted, her foot tapping the floor, and the red spots back in her cheeks. "Such rubbish I never heard!"
CHAPTER XI.
[A FOUL BLOW.]
They none of them believed me, it seemed; and smarting under Mistress Anne's ridicule, hurt by even the Duchess's kindly incredulity, what could I do? Only assert what I had asserted already, that it was undoubtedly Clarence, and that before twenty-four hours elapsed they would have proof of my words.
At mention of this possibility Master Bertie looked up. He had left the main part in the discussion to others, but now he intervened. "One moment!" he said. "Take it that the lad is right, Master Lindstrom. Is there any precaution we can adopt, any back door, so to speak, we can keep open, in case of an attempt to arrest us being made? What would be the line of our retreat to Wesel?"
"The river," replied the Dutchman promptly.