As Phil was about to extinguish the light,
a sudden thought struck him.
"Will nothing bring him to his senses?" said Phil to himself, as, his passion having subsided, he glanced with loathing at the unconscious object of his remarks. "He gets worse and worse. I cannot stay here alone with him. I'd sooner sleep under an archway, or in any hole I can creep into, than with such a wretch as that. I'll put out the candle in case of accident, and be off."
As Phil was about to extinguish the light, a sudden thought struck him. His uncle had a deep and intense horror of fire; had always had indeed since the terrible accident that had killed his little baby-girl. A good blaze would frighten his uncle out of his wits, or perhaps into them, and Phil smiled grimly at his miserable joke. Besides he felt that it would be a sweet revenge for those insulting words that his uncle had cast at him. If only he could manage to kindle a fire that would do no damage to the house, and yet be sufficient to lighten up the room brilliantly, and restore his uncle to his senses!
Well would it have been for Phil had he resolutely put aside the evil desires that prompted him! Little did he know what misery and trouble he was bringing upon himself and others by indulging in that wicked spirit of hatred and revenge. Millie! Millie! Is your dear presence so near, and yet has your gentle face no power to stop him? See, Phil studies how best he can put his plan into execution, but for some time, he shakes his head negatively at each suggestion.
"I have it," he exclaims at last.
In the fender, piled up for the morning's use, are a number of little bits of dry wood, and a heap of straw and shavings, which Millie had considerately put there before she left. With trembling fingers Phil places the candlestick in the fender, and builds around it with the sticks and shavings, till only half the candle, which is a long one, is visible above the heap. It will blaze up finely presently, he thinks. His uncle will be sure to wake and the flames will frighten him well night to death—and Phil laughs triumphantly. Perhaps he'll be sober for a good while after that. Anyhow it shall be a lesson to him. Then surveying his work with a wicked delight, and with a last glance at his uncle, who is still snoring on the floor, he goes out of the room resolving to spend the night as best he can in the streets.
On the landing he pauses. Something whispers him to enter the tiny room belonging to his sister. Would that he had yielded to that better impulse!
But no, he creeps downstairs, and passes unnoticed into the narrow street, where he mingles with the noisy crowd. He runs hither and thither in his excitement. His blood is tingling with a savage pleasure at the thought of the deed which he has just accomplished. He gloats over it, and laughs aloud as he pictures what will happen by-and-by in Swift Street. But presently getting very warm and very tired, he leans against a door-post to rest himself; and with quietness and reflection a feeling comes over him that after all he has done a childish and a foolish thing. The little pile of sticks and rubbish will blaze away around the hissing candle for a few minutes, and then die out again, while his uncle, unconscious even of the event, will remain undisturbed.
And now that he has carried out his grand speech about leaving home, what is he to do? He knows of no place where he can pass the night. He has read of archways under which little homeless children creep for shelter, but just now he cannot recall to his memory the situation of a single one. Besides, to lie in the open air and the dirt, with anybody that might choose to keep him company! He grows sick at the very idea. He has fourpence in his pocket. It will be a rough lodging that so small a sum can procure, but that is what he must seek, he supposes. He need not go in search of it just at present, however. He has plenty of time and he will put off the evil moment as long as possible.
So he wanders disconsolately up and down the Strand, watching the people as they come out of the theatres, and drive away in their carriages. A young lady with fair hair and a pretty face reminds him of Miss Crawford. Phil cannot bear to think of her. What would she say if she knew how he had been keeping his promise to her and Millie? How disappointed she will be in him! She will never believe him, never trust in him again.