"What is the matter, Maeve?" he asked. "You are with me. There is
nothing to fear."
I noticed that the wound had opened, and his white hair was stained with
blood.
"It is the death-coach," cried my grandmother.
"What matter, if it comes for both of us?" he said.
"It is not the death-coach," I cried. "It is a friend, some one come to
our help. Look at Dido! She would be frightened if it were the
death-coach. See how she listens!"
Above the crying of the storm there came a tremendous rat-tat on the
knocker of the hall door.
CHAPTER XXXV
THE MESSENGER
My grandfather made a step or two towards the door, but my grandmother,
who seemed distraught with terror, would not let him go, but clung to
him the closer. Dido had gone to the door of the room and was barking to
get out. She was running up and down in a frenzy of impatience. The
tremendous knocking still went on above the noise of the wind.
"It is absurd," I cried, trying to make my grandmother hear; "did any
one ever know the death-coach to come knocking at the door?"
But she was too terrified to hear me. So I let her be, and, snatching
one of the candles from the table, I went out into the hall.
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