It was a chilly night, and the fire in the widow"s parlour had burnt low. Her strange companion placed her in a chair, andstooping down before the half-extinguished ashes, raked themtogether and fanned them with his hat. From time to time heglanced at her over his shoulder, as though to assure himself ofher remaining quiet and making no effort to depart; and that done,busied himself about the fire again.
It was not without reason that he took these pains, for his dresswas dank and drenched with wet, his jaws rattled with cold, and heshivered from head to foot. It had rained hard during the previousnight and for some hours in the morning, but since noon it had beenfine. Wheresoever he had passed the hours of darkness, hiscondition sufficiently betokened that many of them had been spentbeneath the open sky. Besmeared with mire; his saturated clothesclinging with a damp embrace about his limbs; his beard unshaven,his face unwashed, his meagre cheeks worn into deep hollows,--amore miserable wretch could hardly be, than this man who nowcowered down upon the widow"s hearth, and watched the strugglingflame with bloodshot eyes.
She had covered her face with her hands, fearing, as it seemed, tolook towards him. So they remained for some short time in silence.
Glancing round again, he asked at length:
"Is this your house?"
"It is. Why, in the name of Heaven, do you darken it?"
"Give me meat and drink," he answered sullenly, "or I dare do morethan that. The very marrow in my bones is cold, with wet andhunger. I must have warmth and food, and I will have them here."
"You were the robber on the Chigwell road."
"I was."
"And nearly a murderer then."
"The will was not wanting. There was one came upon me and raisedthe hue-and-cry", that it would have gone hard with, but for hisnimbleness. I made a thrust at him."
"You thrust your sword at HIM!" cried the widow, looking upwards.
"You hear this man! you hear and saw!"
He looked at her, as, with her head thrown back, and her hands tight clenched together, she uttered these words in an agony ofappeal. Then, starting to his feet as she had done, he advancedtowards her.
"Beware!" she cried in a suppressed voice, whose firmness stoppedhim midway. "Do not so much as touch me with a finger, or you arelost; body and soul, you are lost."
"Hear me," he replied, menacing her with his hand. "I, that in theform of a man live the life of a hunted beast; that in the body ama spirit, a ghost upon the earth, a thing from which all creaturesshrink, save those curst beings of another world, who will notleave me;--I am, in my desperation of this night, past all fear butthat of the hell in which I exist from day to day. Give thealarm, cry out, refuse to shelter me. I will not hurt you. But Iwill not be taken alive; and so surely as you threaten me aboveyour breath, I fall a dead man on this floor. The blood with whichI sprinkle it, be on you and yours, in the name of the Evil Spiritthat tempts men to their ruin!"
As he spoke, he took a pistol from his breast, and firmly clutchedit in his hand.
"Remove this man from me, good Heaven!" cried the widow. "In thygrace and mercy, give him one minute"s penitence, and strike himdead!"
"It has no such purpose," he said, confronting her. "It is deaf.
Give me to eat and drink, lest I do that it cannot help my doing,and will not do for you."
"Will you leave me, if I do thus much? Will you leave me andreturn no more?"
"I will promise nothing," he rejoined, seating himself at thetable, "nothing but this--I will execute my threat if you betrayme."
She rose at length, and going to a closet or pantry in the room,brought out some fragments of cold meat and bread and put them onthe table. He asked for brandy, and for water. These she producedlikewise; and he ate and drank with the voracity of a famishedhound. All the time he was so engaged she kept at the uttermostdistance of the chamber, and sat there shuddering, but with herface towards him. She never turned her back upon him once; and although when she passed him (as she was obliged to do in going toand from the cupboard) she gathered the skirts of her garment abouther, as if even its touching his by chance were horrible to thinkof, still, in the midst of all this dread and terror, she kept herface towards his own, and watched his every movement.
His repast ended--if that can be called one, which was a mereravenous satisfying of the calls of hunger--he moved his chairtowards the fire again, and warming himself before the blaze whichhad now sprung brightly up, accosted her once more.
"I am an outcast, to whom a roof above his head is often anuncommon luxury, and the food a beggar would reject is delicatefare. You live here at your ease. Do you live alone?"
"I do not," she made answer with an effort.
"Who dwells here besides?"
"One--it is no matter who. You had best begone, or he may find youhere. Why do you linger?"
"For warmth," he replied, spreading out his hands before the fire.
"For warmth. You are rich, perhaps?"
"Very," she said faintly. "Very rich. No doubt I am very rich."
"At least you are not penniless. You have some money. You weremaking purchases to-night."
"I have a little left. It is but a few shillings."
"Give me your purse. You had it in your hand at the door. Give itto me."
She stepped to the table and laid it down. He reached across, tookit up, and told the contents into his hand. As he was countingthem, she listened for a moment, and sprung towards him.
"Take what there is, take all, take more if more were there, but gobefore it is too late. I have heard a wayward step without, I knowfull well. It will return directly. Begone."
"What do you mean?"
"Do not stop to ask. I will not answer. Much as I dread to touch you, I would drag you to the door if I possessed the strength,rather than you should lose an instant. Miserable wretch! fly fromthis place."
"If there are spies without, I am safer here," replied the man,standing aghast. "I will remain here, and will not fly till thedanger is past."
"It is too late!" cried the widow, who had listened for the step,and not to him. "Hark to that foot upon the ground. Do youtremble to hear it! It is my son, my idiot son!"
As she said this wildly, there came a heavy knocking at the door.
He looked at her, and she at him.
"Let him come in," said the man, hoarsely. "I fear him less thanthe dark, houseless night. He knocks again. Let him come in!"