He lifted the light, as he spoke, and its feeble rays fell upon the glittering heap of gold that lay before him. A ghastly smile played across the pale countenance of Jacob Gray.
“I have gained something,” he said, as he laid his thin, cold hand upon the gold. “Yes, I have gained these—these pieces of bright metal, that will exchange for honours—service—gay attire—enchanting music—nay, they will buy what men affect not to sell—opinion. There may be some pure state of society, in which, when speaking of a man, the question may be, ‘What is he?’ But here—here, in civilized, moral, intellectual England, the question is, ‘What has he?’ These,” he continued, running his hand among the guineas; “these even will purchase prayers to Heaven; petitions to God from the good, the saintly, and the pious. Gold, I love thee—but now to bed—to bed!”
He carefully placed his treasure in its recent receptacle at the back of the cupboard, and then with a faltering step, and a shifting glance of fear, he repaired to his own chamber, which was near to Ada’s room.
In his progress he passed the door of the dormitory of his victim—he paused a moment, and listened attentively. Then in a voice of deep anguish he said,—
“She can sleep—she can sleep—no ghostly vision scares slumber from her eyes—while—”
He shuddered, and passed a step or two on, then pausing again, he said,—
“Oh, if she, the young and innocent—the loved of Heaven—if she would but bid me a ‘good night,’ I think I could sleep—I asked her once, and she would not—no, she would not give me so much peace; she would not say good night to me!”
These words were spoken by Gray in a tone of great mental anguish, and he passed on silently to his own chamber.
A silence, as of the grave, reigned over the old house, and an uneasy slumber crept over Jacob Gray.
Well might the man of crime dread to sleep; for, although exhausted nature sunk into repose, the busy fancy slept not; but, ever wakeful, conjured up strange ghastly shapes to scare the sleeper.