The intended victim slept.
Anthony Tidkins approached the bed, placed the candle upon the floor, knelt down, and bent over the bolster.
"Margaret!" he said, in a low tone, giving her a gentle shake by the shoulder at the same time.
She opened her eyes; and at the same moment the Resurrection Man clapped his hand tightly upon her mouth. But this precaution was unnecessary; for, without it, profound terror would have sealed the lips of the affrighted woman.
"If you cause an alarm," muttered the Resurrection Man, in a low but hoarse and dogged tone, "I'll cut your throat that minute. I want to speak to you; and if you tell me the truth I will do you no harm."
The Rattlesnake clasped her hands together, and cast a glance of the most humble and earnest supplication up into the countenance of the demon whose sudden appearance—there—and at the still hour of night—leaning over her in so menacing a manner, and with dark resolve expressed in his foreboding face,—had struck such terror to her inmost soul.
"Now, mind," added the Resurrection Man,—"one word to disturb the house—and you die!"
He then withdrew his hand from her mouth; but she scarcely breathed more freely. Her alarm would not have been of a more appalling character, had she awoke to find herself encircled in the horrible coils of a boa-constrictor.
"You see, Margaret," continued Tidkins, "no one can escape me: sooner or later I fall in with those who thwart or injure me. But we have not much time for idle chattering. In one word; what have you done with the money you stole from me?"
"The gipsies have got it all," answered the woman, scarcely able to articulate through intense terror; "but a part of it is mine whenever I choose to claim it."