“I believe I am crazy,” he said. “But what a blow. My head seems split asunder.”
“What did he strike you with? Ho, there, Hans! Bring the torch hither. What did he strike you with?”
“It seemed like a clinched hand. And it can not be that a human hand should have such power. I would sooner be kicked by a horse than take such another blow.”
“Do you know who struck you?”
“Not I; though when the blow came every sun, moon and star in a clear sky seemed to blaze close before my eyes. By my faith, I am dizzy yet.”
“I should think you were. Lean upon me, and let us return to the house. Do you know who they were?”
“Surely. Who should it be but the worshipful Lieutenant Barlow, and his friend Bainbridge. I tell you again that he is something more than he shows upon the outside. S’death, man, he called out to the lieutenant like a master, I can tell you, and he came at his call.”
“What was it all about?”
“I heard voices under my window, and listened. It was Theresa talking with Barlow. I threw open my window and called upon him to speak. But Bainbridge called to his comrade to come away, and I missed him—it was very dark.”
“By the bones of my father!” cried Van Curter. “Has it gone so far as that. Follow me.”