'No, indeed,' answered the child fervently, 'they make me feel so happy!'
'That's well; I know they do; they should,' said the old man.'Bless thee a hundred times! Early in the morning I shall be home.'
'You'll not ring twice,' returned the child.'The bell wakes me, even in the middle of a dream.'
With this, they separated.The child opened the door (now guarded by a shutter which I had heard the boy put up before he left the house) and with another farewell whose clear and tender note I have recalled a thousand times, held it until we had passed out.The old man paused a moment while it was gently closed and fastened on the inside, and satisfied that this was done, walked on at a slow pace.At the street-corner he stopped, and regarding me with a troubled countenance said that our ways were widely different and that he must take his leave.I would have spoken, but summoning up more alacrity than might have been expected in one of his appearance, he hurried away.I could see that twice or thrice he looked back as if to ascertain if I were still watching him, or perhaps to assure himself that I was not following at a distance.The obscurity of the night favoured his disappearance, and his figure was soon beyond my sight.
I remained standing on the spot where he had left me, unwilling to depart, and yet unknowing why I should loiter there.I looked wistfully into the street we had lately quitted, and after a time directed my steps that way.I passed and repassed the house, and stopped and listened at the door; all was dark, and silent as the grave.
Yet I lingered about, and could not tear myself away, thinking of all possible harm that might happen to the child--of fires and robberies and even murder--and feeling as if some evil must ensure if I turned my back upon the place.The closing of a door or window in the street brought me before the curiosity-dealer's once more; I crossed the road and looked up at the house to assure myself that the noise had not come from there.No, it was black, cold, and lifeless as before.
There were few passengers astir; the street was sad and dismal, and pretty well my own.A few stragglers from the theatres hurried by, and now and then I turned aside to avoid some noisy drunkard as he reeled homewards, but these interruptions were not frequent and soon ceased.The clocks struck one.Still I paced up and down, promising myself that every time should be the last, and breaking faith with myself on some new plea as often as I did so.
The more I thought of what the old man had said, and of his looks and bearing, the less I could account for what I had seen and heard.Ihad a strong misgiving that his nightly absence was for no good purpose.I had only come to know the fact through the innocence of the child, and though the old man was by at the time, and saw my undisguised surprise, he had preserved a strange mystery upon the subject and offered no word of explanation.These reflections naturally recalled again more strongly than before his haggard face, his wandering manner, his restless anxious looks.His affection for the child might not be inconsistent with villany of the worst kind;even that very affection was in itself an extraordinary contradiction, or how could he leave her thus? Disposed as I was to think badly of him, I never doubted that his love for her was real.I could not admit the thought, remembering what had passed between us, and the tone of voice in which he had called her by her name.
'Stay here of course,' the child had said in answer to my question, 'Ialways do!' What could take him from home by night, and every night! I called up all the strange tales I had ever heard of dark and secret deeds committed in great towns and escaping detection for a long series of years; wild as many of these stories were, I could not find one adapted to this mystery, which only became the more impenetrable, in proportion as I sought to solve it.
Occupied with such thoughts as these, and a crowd of others all tending to the same point, I continued to pace the street for two long hours; at length the rain began to descend heavily, and then over-powered by fatigue though no less interested than I had been at first, I engaged the nearest coach and so got home.A cheerful fire was blazing on the hearth, the lamp burnt brightly, my clock received me with its old familiar welcome; everything was quiet, warm and cheering, and in happy contrast to the gloom and darkness I had quitted.
But all that night, waking or in my sleep, the same thoughts recurred and the same images retained possession of my brain.I had ever before me the old dark murky rooms--the gaunt suits of mail with their ghostly silent air--the faces all awry, grinning from wood and stone--the dust and rust and worm that lives in wood--and alone in the midst of all this lumber and decay and ugly age, the beautiful child in her gentle slumber, smiling through her light and sunny dreams.