THE CRY IN THE NIGHT

"You'd be having company last night, sir?" Mrs. Hollings remarked
inquisitively. Mrs. Hollings was an elderly widow, who devoted two
hours of her morning to cleaning my rooms and preparing my breakfast.

"Some friends did call," I answered, pouring out the coffee.

"Friends! Good Samaritans I should call 'em," Mrs. Hollings declared,
"if so be as they left all the things I found here this morning. Why,
there's a whole chicken, to say nothing of tongue and biscuits, and
butter, and relishes, and savouries, the names of which isn't often
heard in this part of the world. There's wine, too, with gold paper
round the top, champagne wine, I do believe."

"Is the tide up this morning?" I asked.

"None to speak of," Mrs. Hollings answered, "though the road's been
washed dry, and the creeks are brimming. I've scarcely set foot in the
village this morning, but they're all a-talking about the soldier
gentleman the Duke brought down to the village hall last night. Might
you have seen him, sir?"

"Yes, I saw him," I answered.

"A sad shame as it was the night of your lecture, sir," the woman
babbled on, "for they were all crazy to hear him. My! the hall was
packed."