The voice of Mr. Urquhart became audible to him. The squire was explaining in a querulous voice that the man Monk had been so truculent that morning that he had set the whole household by the ears. “ Mrs. Martin came to me like a virago and threatened to give notice,” he said. “I thought it best to beat a retreat. Always beat a retreat when servants mutiny, eh? What?”

As Wolf blinked at him across the foam of his beer-mug, he began to feel as if that vigil of his at the church-window had been a pure hallucination. “Redfern’s grave will look the same as it always has,” he thought, “when I next see it.”

“Did you enjoy your walk this morning, Jason?” enquired Darnley, pulling at his beard. His brother regarded him with a long, sad, intent look.