All had disappeared from the room, and he was alone. He had himself, in a fury of passion, borne away Darda to the stables--whereto there was a covered passage leading from the north wing of the house--and had locked her in amongst the deer, as safe and appropriate to her animal outburst. Angela--more frightened than hurt by the little punctured wound on her fair white shoulder which the knife had made in its fall--had been supported to an upper room by her brother and Dunlone. Betty was fled, he knew not whither, and Luvaine gone to take his turn of guard in the chamber of the “Priest’s Hole,” which now, in the light of late discovery, was considered the nucleus of danger. Dusk was creeping on when, in the midst of his irritable tramping, he turned to find that Dennis was come into the room. “By all the devils of cross-purposes,” he said, stopping opposite the man, “I believe we are the only two in the house, Whimple, that understand one another. Tell me, then--what am I to do with the girl?” “She must go, sir. Her malady increases, and--sir, let me speak plainly. It is aggravated by some wild passion that--that your neighbourhood provokes--some--oh! how can I face you and cry the mad presumption?” “Yes--she must go.” (He spoke gloomily and thoughtfully.) “If only this eternal business of the stone were done with, and I could enter into peaceful possession of my own again. And sometimes I think that that will never be; that I hold a position only--a test of manliness and endurance, and that ‘Delsrop’ is no more than a redoubt in the battle of life, to fight from the shelter of, and abandon when my next advance is called.” “In truth, sir, I believe there is a melancholy curse upon the place.” “We will hold it, nevertheless, Dennis; but, our duty done by it, my heart, I think, wouldn’t die to see it fall. ’Twould be a sombre rookery for a young mother to rear her brood in.” He set to pacing the room once more, while the other hung his head in some sorrowful emotion. “Whimple,” he said, as he walked--“you have associations here--sinister enough; but they are a bond of a kind. I have none, and yet your father’s shadow creeps in mine and influences it, I am afraid, to evil.” “Oh, sir! don’t talk like that. I have so formed my faith on all of that in you which I lack--courage and----” “Tut, fellow! D’you think I’m to be overcrowed by a ghost? The sick dog must have his moan, Dennis, and I’m scarce recovered yet of those rascals. Look at my hands, you rabbit. Are these fingers or forked radishes to pull a trigger withal?” “God restore you, master!” “As He will--as He will.” He was still tramping. “But the stone,” he muttered--“the stone, the stone.” Suddenly he paused before the servant, and placed a hand on his shoulder. “When you took the skull to your mother,” he said, “how did you carry it?” “Carry it, sir?” “Carry it, I say? Did you put the grinning atrocity under your arm--under your coat--how?” “I put it in a bag, sir.”