During the above conversation a gentleman, unperceived by the landlord and his best customer, entered the kitchen of the Jolly Fiddler. He was clad in a suit of black, over which he wore a long cloak of invisible green, the bottom of which trailed on the ground. He had on his head a felt wideawake, which was so inclined in front that his eyes were not perceptible, while the rest of his face was shut from view by an immense quantity of long, smooth, glossy hair, which descended over and below his shoulders. He had entered the kitchen of the Jolly Fiddler silently, and taking up a position between the door and chimney-corner in which the smith was sitting, and at the landlord’s back, his presence was unperceived by both. On that spot he had stood during the conversation between Nat and Bill, to which he had listened with great attention. When the landlord turned away from his friend Nat, to attend to the duties of his house, he was astonished to find the presence of the stranger, whose strange appearance struck him with awe, and his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth. However he summoned up his courage, and taking a slanting direction, he escaped through a side door into the little back parlour of the inn.
Nat was not a spectator of this scene. When Will left him, he took his quart of ale in his hand, and composing himself in the chimney corner, he sat there, intently watching the glowing wood-fire before him. There he sat, now and then sipping his ale, as professed wine-drinkers sip their port, remarking to himself, after each succeeding draught, “This is capital stuff! it warms the cockles of one’s heart as it goes down; but, poor me! when, oh when, shall I have sixpence in my pocket to buy another quart? Oh, it’s a sad thing to be poor in this rich land of plenty! It’s not right for me and my class to starve for good ale, when our wealthy neighbours have their cellars full, and plenty of gold to buy more. If I was rich, the poor man should never want for a pint or a jug of the real ‘cwrw da.’ Ah, me! I sha’ never be rich. I’m born to be poor, and to labour as them sparks fly up the chimney. It’s sad, very sad, and heart-breaking, to have an empty pocket when one’s soul is thirsty.”
Nat sat thus musing and talking to himself for nearly half an hour. At last he finished his ale, and then, taking his stick in his hand, rose to go home. There was no one in the kitchen now. Nat thought this very strange, as Bill was generally about; but he fancied, as he rose to depart, that he saw the shadow of a human form on the wall. Of this he took no particular notice at the time; but, on listening to Will’s story the following day, Nat felt that the supposed shadow was a terrible reality.
Nat left the inn with a heavy heart. It is true he had had his quart of good ale, but he thought that, as work was slack, he would have considerable difficulty “in raising the wind” for several days, and this affliction had a depressing influence on his spirits. At last he reached the little wicket gate leading from the highway to his cottage; but on his opening it, he was awe-struck on seeing coming from his house along the garden-path, a gentleman clad in deep mourning. As there was something in the appearance of the gentleman Nat did not like, he attempted to avoid him by leaving the path free; but when Nat turned out of the path the figure turned too, and came up, meeting the smith face to face, and addressed him thus:—
“You are rather late to-night, Mr. Smith.”
“If I be late, sir,” retorted Nat, “I do not see it’s any business of yours.”
“Don’t be angry with me, friend, I meant no harm, for my object in meeting you here is to afford you help and counsel.”
“I need, sir, no man’s help,” replied Nat; “and when I require advice I’ll seek it at the house of a friend.”
“But, friend Vulcan, I can give you the help which no man can.”
“Give it then, sir, to those who seek; as for me I desire it not.”