"It's not that only," persisted her husband. "Fair or foul weather, it is just the same to me. See how our custom has fallen off."
"Naturally; now that the members of the club have all departed," replied Molly. "It's lonely like, not seeing a human face all day long."
"It's worse than that," continued Jack. "Haven't you felt—well, I don't know how to say it—as if—as if—some danger were hanging over our heads?"
"Lor, Jack!" cried our hostess, "Who'ld ever have thought to hear you talk like that? Well, Jack, to tell you the truth—though I never liked to mention the matter before, for fear you should laugh at me—I confess I never have felt quite myself since the night of that tragedy."
"That's it. Depend upon it," said her husband. "The spot has become accursed. I lose my appetite and sleep; feel weak and nervous; start at the merest sound, while ever and anon I have the sensation as if someone were looking over my shoulder. If perchance I shut my eyes, I see before me all that took place upon that fearful night. I hear the stairs creak, and see that ruffian clasping our dear Helen in his arms. I hear her screams for help, whilst I seem to see myself lying drugged and helpless, incapable of running to her assistance."
"Oh, Jack! and so have I," replied his spouse. "I too have dreamed that dream. It will not go from me. Each time I close my eyes—— Hark! What was that? A footstep, I'll be sworn."
"Ay, ay," assented Jack; "I hear them oft, myself."
It was now growing late, and our host went to fetch a jug of his own nut brown ale, and filled himself up a glass, which he drained at a draught, then filled himself up another.
"You drink more than you used to, Jack," remarked the wife of his bosom. "I've seen you look very muddled of late. Don't let it grow upon you. Don't, now, there's a dear."
But to his wife's tender injunctions he turned a deaf ear, and continued to fill up again and again, and yet again, until he was perfectly mellow.