Margaret shook her head. She rose softly from her seat, and took a candle from the table to light it, saying she would go and see. Her hand trembled a little as she held the match, and the candle would not immediately light. Meantime, the door opened without noise, and some one walked in and quite up to the gazing ladies. It was the tall woman. Maria made an effort to reach the bell, but the tall woman seized her arm, and made her sit down. A capricious jet of flame from a coal in the fire at this moment lighted up the face of the stranger for a moment, and enabled Maria to “spy a creat peard under the muffler.”
“What do you want at this time?” said Margaret.
“I want money, and what else I can get,” said the intruder, in the no longer disguised voice of a man. “I have been into your larder, but you seem to have nothing there.”
“That is true,” said Margaret, firmly; “nor have we any money. We are very poor. You could not have come to a worse place, if you are in want.”
“Here is something, however,” said the man, turning to the tray. “With your leave, I’ll see what you have left us to eat.”
He thrust one of the candles between the bars of the grate to light it, telling the ladies they had better start no difficulty, lest they should have reason to repent it. There were others with him in the house, who would show themselves in an instant, if any noise were made.
“Then do you make none—I beg it as a favour,” said Margaret. “There is a lady asleep up-stairs, with a very young infant. If you respect her life you will be quiet.”
The man did not answer, but he was quiet. He cut slices from the loaf, and carried them to the door, and they were taken by somebody outside. He quickly devoured the remains of the pheasant, tearing the meat from the bones with his teeth. He drank from the decanter of wine, and then carried it where he had taken the bread. Two men put their heads in at the door, nodded to the ladies before they drank, and again withdrew. The girls cast a look at each other—a glance of agreement that resistance was not to be thought of: yet each was conscious of a feeling of rather pleasant surprise that she was not more alarmed.
“Now for it!” said the man, striding oddly about in his petticoats, and evidently out of patience with them. “Now for your money!” As he spoke, he put the spoons from the tray into the bosom of his gown, proceeding to murmur at his deficiency of pockets.
Margaret held out her purse to him. It contained one single shilling.