“If I’ve been harsh to ye, don’t take heed of it. And look to yourself, boy. I had a dream of ye last night, when the moon was high, and it troubles me. I can’t quite make it out, but there was blood upon you, boy, and it frightens me. Look to yourself in that great city. Yes, I remember there was blood upon ye.”
Comethup, a little frightened, stared at the old man for a moment, and then hurriedly joined ’Linda and drew her away. He turned the matter over in his mind once or twice, but, remembering the wild dreams the old man had had before, and being but a child, with many more important things to think of, it slipped from his memory, happily enough, and did not trouble him.
He took ’Linda back to her father’s house in the late afternoon, after roaming about with her during the day, and set off for the captain’s cottage. For the captain had been invited by Miss Charlotte Carlaw to dine with her that evening, and he was to accompany Comethup back to the inn. Miss Carlaw had asked the boy, kindly enough, if he would care to invite his old friend, and Comethup had gladly seized the opportunity. He found the captain a gorgeous figure—in his eyes at least.
That gallant gentleman had raked out of his wardrobe his dress suit; it had lain there unworn for years, since his seclusion in the country, and was very old-fashioned and somewhat threadbare. But Comethup felt more proud than ever of his friend, and only wished that his aunt had eyes to see him. Comethup, for his part, cut a somewhat better figure in the matter of dress than he had hitherto done, for his aunt had had him measured for a new suit of mourning, and had gone down to the little shop at which it was being made, every hour or two during the day, and had so frightened the unfortunate tailor that the clothes had been completed in an incredibly short space of time.
The captain put on his old military cloak, in order to hide something of his glory from the mere ordinary people in the streets, and the two set out for the inn together. Comethup, remembering his aunt’s attitude toward the captain on the occasion of their first meeting, trembled a little as to the reception he would meet with; but was delighted to find that the old lady was graciousness itself. She welcomed the captain to her quarters with profuse apologies for the poorness of the fare and the meagreness of the room.
“Not my fault, you know, sir,” she said, “but that infernal brother of mine. Of course, I’ve not been able to discover whether there is a better inn than this in the town, but I’m convinced there must be, and that it’s just a trick on the part of Bob Carlaw to cause me annoyance. Oh, I know him, and I’ll be even with him some day.”
“I fear, madam,” said the captain, “that our little town is somewhat deficient in accommodation for travellers. You see, we never have anybody here, or very rarely. This is a very good inn in its way, and I——”
“I beg your pardon, captain,” she interrupted, sharply, “you haven’t lived in it. I say that it’s a devilish bad inn. There, there, forgive my short temper. I shall be very glad to get back to London again, where I know every turn and corner of the house I live in, and can’t run against things unexpectedly. Will you oblige me, captain, by informing me if it’s after seven o’clock?”
The captain consulted his old-fashioned watch. “By the clock of the parish church, madam, it is some three minutes past the hour,” he said.
She rapped impatiently on the floor with her stick. “Comethup, ring the bell; ring it hard. I’ll let these people know that when I say seven I mean seven.”