The hypocrite, with his heart burning with malice, yet afraid to speak a word, turned slowly away, and passed in silence from the chamber.
Meantime, his helpless and suffering wife, left to herself, had remained in the same state of delirium, and continued to give utterance to her incoherent ravings. When he had passed out of sight, Abigail turned to her; but quickly discerned, from her haggard and unconscious aspect, and the burning fever of her eyes, that she could afford her no relief. She then turned to the neighbouring wardrobe, and, drawing open the door, called forth Bernard.
“Get thee hence, now,” she said; “and be wary, on thy way out, that he sees thee not. I must tarry here with her.”
“I would I could speak a word more with her,” answered Bernard. “I covet some paper she told me of, of great import, that she hath hidden away.”
“Hear’st thou not how she raves?” returned Abigail. “Get thee gone!”
Bernard, whether because he saw that his staying would be of no avail, or feared to offend Abigail, said no more; but, though with evident reluctance, turned silently away. Softly crossing the chamber, he passed into the passage without; and thence, after a cautious reconnoissance, proceeded to the staircase, and descended to the porch without being observed.
Abigail remained in the chamber with Dame Shedlock. After a time, the dame, though she seemed to be still insensible, ceased to rave; and Abigail ventured to leave her for a while, and descend to the kitchen for a light. When she returned, she found the dame lying in the same position; but, to her mind, looking less unconscious, and more at ease. Seemingly much pleased at this, the eccentric servant, as a precaution against accidents, set the light down on the hearth, and then threw herself into a contiguous chair. She had sat thus but a short time, when she fell into a profound sleep.