“Beg pardon, sir,” said George, drawing up to his side, “but you are not looking over and above well this morning. If you’ll let me go down I’d enjoy the bath.”
“No, no,” said Benson, peremptorily.
“You ain’t fit to go down, sir,” persisted his follower. “I’ve never seen you look so before. Now if—”
“Mind your business,” said his master curtly.
George became silent and the three walked with swinging strides through the long wet grass to the well. Bob flung the rope on the ground and at a sign from his master handed him the candlestick.
“Here’s the line for it, sir,” said Bob, fumbling in his pockets.
Benson took it from him and slowly tied it to the candlestick. Then he placed it on the edge of the well, and striking a match, lit the candle and began slowly to lower it.
“Hold hard, sir,” said George, quickly, laying his hand on his arm, “you must tilt it or the string’ll burn through.”
Even as he spoke the string parted and the candlestick fell into the water below.
Benson swore quietly.