When they had all passed, and the sound of their footsteps had died away, one of them returned, and after a little hesitation and rustling in the passage, as if he were doubtful what door to knock at, knocked at hers.
'Yes,' said the child from within.
'It's me--Short'-- a voice called through the keyhole.

'I only wanted to say that we must be off early to-morrow morning, my dear, because unless we get the start of the dogs and the conjuror, the villages won't be worth a penny.

You'll be sure to be stirring early and go with us?
I'll call you.' The child answered in the affirmative, and returning his 'good night' heard him creep away.

She felt some uneasiness at the anxiety of these men, increased by the recollection of their whispering together down stairs and their slight confusion when she awoke, nor was she quite free from a misgiving that they were not the fittest companions she could have stumbled on.

Her uneasiness, however, was nothing, weighed against her fatigue; and she soon forgot it in sleep.