The stranger, unaware how near he was of having his head laid open with
a spade, said seriously: "I am not trespassing where I stand, am I? I
fancy there's something wrong about your news. Suppose you let me come
in."

"_You_ come in!" murmured old Hagberd, with inexpressible horror.

"I could give you some real information about your son--the very latest
tip, if you care to hear."

"No," shouted Hagberd. He began to pace wildly to and fro, he shouldered
his spade, he gesticulated with his other arm. "Here's a fellow--a
grinning fellow, who says there's something wrong. I've got more
information than you're aware of. I've all the information I want.
I've had it for years--for years--for years--enough to last me till
to-morrow. Let you come in, indeed! What would Harry say?"

Bessie Carvil's figure appeared in black silhouette on the parlour
window; then, with the sound of an opening door, flitted out before the
other cottage, all black, but with something white over her head.
These two voices beginning to talk suddenly outside (she had heard them
indoors) had given her such an emotion that she could not utter a sound.

Captain Hagberd seemed to be trying to find his way out of a cage. His
feet squelched in the puddles left by his industry. He stumbled in the
holes of the ruined grass-plot. He ran blindly against the fence.

"Here, steady a bit!" said the man at the gate, gravely stretching his
arm over and catching him by the sleeve. "Somebody's been trying to get
at you. Hallo! what's this rig you've got on? Storm canvas, by George!"