The wind had fallen; the last
doors were shut, and the two figures standing here were as still as
all else. To neither of them occurred even the thinnest shadow of a
suspicion as to the cause that held them here--two plain men--in
silence, staring at an old house--not a thought of any hidden life
beyond that of matter, that life by which most men reckon existence.
For them this was but one more night such as they had known for half a
century. There was a moon. It was fine. That was Mrs. Baxter's house.
This was the village street:--that was the sum of the situation....
Mr. Nugent moved off presently with a brisk air, bidding his friend
good night, and the landlord, after another look, went in. There came
the sound of bolts and bars, the light in the window of the parlor
beside the bar suddenly went out, footsteps creaked upstairs; a door
shut, and all was silence.
Half an hour later a shadow moved across the blind upstairs: an arm
appeared to elongate itself; then, up went the blind, the window
followed it, and a bearded face looked out into the moonlight. Behind
was the table littered with papers, for Mr. Cathcart, laborious even
in the midst of anxiety, had brought down with him for the Sunday a
quantity of business that could not easily wait; and had sat there
patiently docketing, correcting, and writing ever since his interview
in the lane nearly five hours before.
Pages:
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330