“Then you had better depart at once,” said Percival, evidently most anxious to see the unwelcome visitor turn his back upon the house.
“Yes—I shall depart indeed,” exclaimed Torrens: “but you must give me money first. Nay—no more excuses: I am a desperate man——”
At that instant a double knock at the street door echoed through the little dwelling.
“’Tis your wife!” said Percival.
“Hide me—or let me escape,” cried Torrens, manifesting a violent and most unfeigned reluctance to encounter the woman whom for so many reasons he loathed and abhorred.
“Here—by the back gate,” said Percival; and, taking the light in his hand, he hastily conducted the almost bewildered Torrens along the passage—down a few steps—and thence to a door opening upon a piece of unenclosed waste ground at the back of the house.
At that instant the double knock was repeated—more loudly than before and evidently with impatience.
“Good night, Mr. Torrens,” said Percival, scarcely able to subdue a spice of lurking satire in his tone.
“Good night,” returned the other, savagely. “But I shall visit you again to-morrow morning.”
Percival closed the back gate as if to shut out this intimation from his ears; and, hurrying to the front door, he gave admittance to Perdita and her mother.