At length, when the hand of the watch over the mantelpiece pointed to eight, and the Resurrection Man fell back in his chair fast asleep, she could hardly suppress an ejaculation of triumph.
She broke off abruptly in the midst of her narrative, and listened.
The nasal sounds that emanated from her companion convinced her that he slept.
Not a moment was now to be lost.
She knew full well that whenever Anthony Tidkins was overtaken by a nap in such a manner as the present, he invariably awoke a short time before the hour at which he had any business to transact; for that strange but fearful individual exercised a marvellous control over all his natural wants and propensities.
Rising cautiously from her seat, the Rattlesnake advanced towards the Resurrection Man, and steadfastly examined his countenance. There could be no doubt that he slept profoundly.
She was, however, resolved to assure herself as far as possible on that head; and she purposely agitated the fire-irons against each other.
The Resurrection Man started slightly, but did not awake.
Perfectly satisfied on this point, Margaret Flathers hastened into the adjoining room, and put on her bonnet and shawl.
Having provided herself with her skeleton keys and some lucifer matches, she descended the stairs and went out of the house.