For the last two nights, being alone, she had shut this door, but when uncle was with her they left it open, and, to prevent draught, a large screen was placed across it inside. Peeping through a chink in this screen, a sight met my eyes which while mind and memory are spared to me will cling to my recollection like a hideous nightmare. Instinctively my eyes sought my aunt's beloved form. She was sitting up in bed, very white and still. Standing beside a table, his back toward me, engaged in unlocking uncle's desk, was the unmistakable figure of Blurdon.
"You may take all you like, and take it without fear; I will never appear against you if you harm us no further," aunt was saying in a tremulous voice. "May that great God who is now looking down upon you, reading the thoughts and intents of your heart, mercifully turn you in time from the error of your ways!"
I could not move, but I heard Blurdon demand whether there was any more money. Then to her expostulation he replied, "You and the other have got jewels worth a deal more than this shabby bit of money. I saw a gold chain on her, I should say, and of course a watch to it; and you've the likes, I'll be bound."
I understood then why he had followed me on the Flats.
"There are my watch and chain on the dressing-table," replied aunt, quietly; and as she spoke she made a movement as if about to rise. Blurdon, with fierce threats, bade her lie still, and tauntingly assured her that he would "go and look up the little girl himself."
The impulse of my feelings when first I came to the door was to rush in and implore Blurdon on my knees not to harm my aunt, yet while I stood trembling I instinctively saw that I should but provoke him to violence. Now a sudden desperate courage seized me. Blurdon had turned to the drawers, and was tossing out the contents of the bag to find another purse. This movement still kept him with his back toward me, and I could not resist at this instant making a step to the left which revealed my white-robed figure to aunt, but not to him. Holding up my finger to enjoin silence, fearing that in the excitement of the moment she might betray me by some exclamation, I made a sign that I was going for help, and, turning round, fled back to my room and shut and locked the door. The ceaseless barking of the little dog, which must have seen the robber through the Venetian blind, providentially rendered every lesser sound indistinct, and slipping my feet into my shoes, I caught up my dressing-gown, and struggling into it on my way, I gently unfastened each door until I reached the balcony.
At the instant of leaving aunt's room I saw her raise her clasped hands and eyes to heaven, and I knew that with them went a prayer to God that he would be my support and safeguard, and so it was.
THE ROBBER.
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