“And here about they do say, the Devil takes care of his own,” said Mildred Tarnley. “But see how my score o’ years be runnin’ up; I take it sinners’ lives be lengthened out a bit by the Judge of all, to gi’e us time to stay our thoughts a little, and repent our misdeeds, while yet we may.”
“You have made a little fire in my room, Mrs. Tarnley?” inquired the stranger, who had probably no liking for theology.
“Yes ’m; everything snug.”
“Would you mind running up and looking? I detest a chill,” said this selfish person.
At that hour no doubt Mrs. Tarnley resented this tax on her rheumatics; but though she was not a woman to curb her resentments, she made shift on this occasion; that did not prevent her, however, from giving the stranger a furious look, while she muttered inaudibly a few words.
“I’ll go with pleasure, ma’am; but I’m sure it’s all right,” she said aloud, very civilly, and paused, thinking perhaps that the lady would let her off the long walk upstairs to the front of the house.
“Very good; I’ll wait here,” said the guest, unfeelingly.
“As you please ’m,” said Mildred, and, with a parting look round the kitchen, she took the candle, and left the lady to the light of the fire.
The lady was almost reclining in her chair, as if she were dozing; but in a few moments up she stood, and placing her hand by her ear, listened; then, with her hands advanced, she crept slowly, and as noiselessly as a cat, across the floor. She jostled a little against the table at Lilly Dogger’s door; then she stopped perfectly still, withdrew the table without a sound; the door swung a little open, and the gaunt figure in grey stood at it, listening. A very faint flicker from the fire lighted this dim woman, who seemed for the moment to have no more life in her than the tall, gray stone of the Druid’s hoe on Cressley Common.
Lilly Dogger was fast asleep; but broken were her slumbers destined to be that night. She felt a hand on her neck, and, looking up, could not for a while see anything, so dark was the room.