He was 'ere in a rare motley of his own choosing, with which he thinks to raise a laugh, a moment ago.

Ye see him not--not 'avin' the gift that belongs by right to my dread office.

'Tis a weird privilege I have--and may not be imparted to others--save"-- "Save what, good man steward?
Prithee, speak ?" said Marian earnestly.
"'Tis ever a shillin' extra." There was no response.

A few of the more bashful ghosts thrust their hands in their pockets and looked awkwardly another way.

The Barbarian felt a momentary relief followed by a slight pang of mortified vanity.
He was a little afraid of them.