The upper room was but a loft. In it were two beds, whereof one was empty. On the edge of the other sat up a boy of sixteen or thereabouts, stark naked and moaning miserably. With one hand he seem’d trying to cover a big wound that gaped in his chest: the other, as my head rose over the ladder, he stretch’d out with all the fingers spread. And this was his last effort. As I stumbled up, his fingers clos’d in a spasm of pain; his hands dropp’d, and the body tumbled back on the bed, where it lay with the legs dangling.
The poor lad must have been stabb’d as he lay asleep. For by the bedside I found his clothes neatly folded and without a speck of blood. They were clean, though coarse; so thinking they would serve for Delia, I took them, albeit with some scruples at robbing the dead, and covering the body with a sheet, made my way downstairs.
[Illustration: “Oh, Jack—they do not fit at all!”—Page 121.]
Here, on a high shelf at the foot of the ladder, I discover’d a couple of loaves and some milk, and also, lying hard by, a pair of shepherd’s shears, which I took also, having a purpose for them. By this time, being sick enough of the place, I was glad to make all speed back to Delia.
She was still waiting among the leafless alders, and clapp’d her hands to see the two loaves under my arm.
Said I, flinging down the clothes, and munching at my share of the bread—
“Here is the boy’s suit that you wish’d for.”
“Oh, dear! ’tis not a very choice one.” Her face fell.
“All the better for escaping notice.”
“But—but I like to be notic’d!”