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Updated: June 5, 2025
If she remained in the house, there were only two courses before her to charge old Mazey with speaking under the influence of a drunken delusion, or to submit to circumstances.
"God bless the Queen, Mazey," and "How's the wind, Mazey?" were followed by a new inquiry: "Where are the dogs, Mazey?" "Out on the loose, your honor, and be damned to 'em," was the veteran's unvarying answer. The admiral always sighed and shook his head gravely at the news, as if Brutus and Cassius had been sons of his own, who treated him with a want of proper filial respect.
Here old Mazey, who had divided his time pretty equally during the investigation of the rooms, in talking of "his honor the Admiral," and whistling to the dogs, returned with all possible expedition to the points of the compass, and gravely directed Magdalen to repeat the ceremony of putting her back against the wall.
There was the plain evidence before him the evidence recognizable at last by his own bewildered eyes that the admiral had never moved from his room. "I'll take the Pledge to-morrow!" mumbled old Mazey, in an outburst of grateful relief.
"I have not slept," said Magdalen, drawing back from him in doubt of what he might do next. "I have no remembrance of what happened after you locked the door I think I must have fainted. Don't frighten me again, Mr. Mazey! I feel miserably weak and ill. What do you want?" "I want to say something serious," replied old Mazey, with impenetrable solemnity.
Over and over again, old Mazey had been roused by the admiral's attempts to push past the truckle-bed, or to step over it, in his sleep; and over and over again, when the veteran had reported the fact the next morning, his master had declined to believe him.
It deepened the impenetrable mystery of the truckle-bed; for it showed plainly that old Mazey had no barbarous preference of his own for passing his nights in the corridor; he occupied that strange and comfortless sleeping-place purely and entirely on his master's account. It was no time for dwelling on the reflections which this conclusion might suggest.
What a pity! what a pity!" "Don't hurt me!" said Magdalen, faintly, as old Mazey staggered up to the chair, and took her by the wrist again. "I'm frightened, Mr. Mazey I'm dreadfully frightened." "Hurt you?" repeated the veteran. "I'm a deal too fond of you and more shame for me at my age! to hurt you. If I let go of your wrist, will you walk straight before me, where I can see you all the way?
No better name for it could have been devised than the name which old Mazey had found. "Freeze-your-Bones" accurately described, in three words, the Banqueting-Hall at St. Crux. "Do you never light a fire in this dismal place?" asked Magdalen. "It all depends on which side of Freeze-your-Bones his honor the admiral lives," said old Mazey.
She started with the sudden terror of the night when old Mazey re-appeared to summon her out to the cart. She trembled with the helpless confusion of the night when the veteran cast the eyes of indulgence on her for the last time, and gave her a kiss on the cheek at parting. The next minute she felt him help her into the cart, and pat her on the back.
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