Like a man in a dream he stood watching as she ran to the tool-house and returned with a spade and pick; like a man in a dream he followed her on to the garden.
"Be careful," she said, sharply; "you're treading down my potatoes."
The boatswain stopped dead and stared at her. Apparently unconscious of his gaze, she began to pace out the measurements and then, placing the tools in his hands, urged him to lose no time.
"I'll bring him down when you're gone," she said, looking towards the house.
The boatswain wiped his damp brow with the back of his hand. "How are you going to get it downstairs?" he breathed.
"Drag it," said Mrs. Waters, briefly.
"Suppose he isn't dead?" said the boat-swain, with a gleam of hope.
"Fiddlesticks!" said Mrs. Waters. "Do you think I don't know? Now, don't waste time talking; and mind you dig it deep. I'll put a few cabbages on top afterwards—I've got more than I want."
She re-entered the house and ran lightly upstairs. The candle was still alight and the gun was leaning against the bed-post; but the visitor had disappeared. Conscious of an odd feeling of disappointment, she looked round the empty room.
"Come and look at him," entreated a voice, and she turned and beheld the amused countenance of her late prisoner at the door.