“Sangree is,” replied the clergyman, in a voice equally low. “I can’t answer for the women; I think they’re sitting up.”

“That’s for the best.” And then he added: “I wish the fog would thin a bit and let the moon through; later⁠—we may want it.”

“It is lifting now, I think,” Maloney whispered back. “It’s over the tops of the trees already.”

I cannot say what it was in this commonplace exchange of remarks that thrilled. Probably Maloney’s swift acquiescence in the doctor’s mood had something to do with it; for his quick obedience certainly impressed me a good deal. But, even without that slight evidence, it was clear that each recognised the gravity of the occasion, and understood that sleep was impossible and sentry duty was the order of the night.

“Report to me,” repeated John Silence once again, “the least sound, and do nothing precipitately.”