“Thank God, she’s away at Bathurst,” said Starlight. “I hate seeing women put out. Besides, every body bows down to Mrs. Knightley. She’s as good as she’s handsome, I believe, and that’s saying a great deal.”

Just then Moran and Wall managed to find their way into the other side of the house, and they came tearing into the hall like a pair of colts. They looked rather queer when they saw us three and no one else.

“What in thunder’s up?” says Moran. “Are they all gone to bed, and left us the spare rooms? Poor Patsey won’t want one, anyhow.”

“Better make some search upstairs,” says Starlight. “Who’ll go first? You make a start, Moran; you like fighting people.”

“Couldn’t think of going before the Captain,” says Moran, with a grin. “I’ll follow where you lead.”

“All right!” says Starlight; “here goes,” and he started to walk upstairs, when all of a sudden he stopped and looked up as if something had surprised him above a bit. Then he stepped back and waited. I noticed he took off his hat and leaned against the wall.

It was an old-fashioned house for that part of the world, built a good many years ago by a rich settler, who was once the owner of all that side of the country. The staircase was all stone, ornamented every way it could be. Three or four people could walk abreast easy enough.

Just about half-way up was a broad landing, and on this, all of a sudden, appeared four people, inclined by their ways to come down to where we were, while we were all wondering, for a reason you’ll see afterwards.

It was Mr. Knightley who took the lady’s arm—it was his wife, and she had been there all the time, firing at us as like as not, or at any rate helping. The others followed, and they all walked quite solemn and steady-like down the stairs together.

It was a strange sight. There we were standing and leaning about the dark hall, staring and wondering, and these people walking down to meet us like ghosts, without speaking or anything else.