"Hallo, you Red-Bristled Ghost!" he cried. "We came early--straight from
our walk. Are the rest coming? And did my cook arrive to help yours?"
Their host, carried by assault, at once became less mournful.
"The cook is here," he replied, "by the kitchen-sounds. They disagree, I
think. I have asked everybody. We should have a full dinner-table."
"Good," said his friend; and then whispering, as they followed Miss
Drake to the living-room, "I say, don't act as though you expected the
ghost of Banquo."
In the bare, white loft, by candle-light, Sturgeon sat midway in some
long and wheezy tale, to which the padre and his wife listened with true
forbearance. Greetings over, the stodgy annalist continued. The story
was forgotten as soon as ended; talk languished; and even by the quaking
light of the candles, it was plain that the silence was no mere waiting
solemnity before meat, but a period of tension.
The relief came oddly. Up from the road sounded a hubbub of voices, the
tramp of feet, and loud halloos.
"By Jove!" cried Sturgeon, like a man who fears the worst; and for all
his bulk, he was first at the window.
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