Without saying a word I opened the door and stepped lightly upon the sidewalk beside him.
“What has happened?” I asked.
“Somethin’ fierce,” he replied. “Shure the blood is curdlin’ in the veins of me; but don’t open your mouth, for I don’t want the blaguards disturbed.”
“Ah! there are thieves in your house,” said I, in a whisper.
“Worse nor that,” said he.
A shiver went through me. “Has some one been murdered?” I queried, halting at the threshold of his door.
“Yis,” he answered in a husky voice, and relapsing completely into the vernacular, “the sowl in me is murthered.”
I walked behind him mechanically. He entered the bedroom on tiptoe, and bade me follow him. It did not occur to me then that I had, rather unconsciously, been lured from my own domicile to the bedroom of a man to whom I had never spoken before. It seemed perfectly proper that I should follow this little old man, just as if it had been a little old white-haired woman. He tiptoed to the little window and pointed to something outside. I fully believed that I was to see something awful, so I closed my eyes, almost involuntarily, it would seem, as I walked to where he stood. When I opened them they looked upon the lovely Hulda and the brother-in-law. Her cheek was close to his cheek; she was looking into his eyes, and both were smiling. I smiled, too, and looked on approvingly, for I had believed for three months that my neighbors were father and daughter.
“Isn’t that purty conduct for a well-brought-up Dutch gurl, an’ the wife of as good a man as ever wore shoe leather?” he asked. His voice sounded hollow and strange. At the word “wife” I turned and fled, for the full significance burst upon me.
“Come back,” he called, “an’ tell me what you think of it.”