Igraine was still looking at the dead man with strange awe in her heart.
“Keep off,” she said, thrusting off Malt; “the man has been stabbed.”
“Well, haven’t I eyes too, hussy?”
Claudia came in, white and quavering, with her crucifix up.
“Poor wretch!” said she; “can’t we bury him?”
“Bury him!” cried Malt.
“Yes, sister.”
“Thanks, no. It would spoil my dinner.”
Claudia gave a sudden scream, and jumped back, holding her skirts up.
“There’s blood on the floor! Holy mother! did the dog move?”