But nothing positive was known on this head.
'I'll tell you what, Jane,' said Rattenbury, 'you have put the maid dry and warm betwixt the blankets, but you are wringing wet yourself and your teeth chattering. Strip off your bedraggled clothes yourself. Don't you suppose that I have no female tackle here. My missus has been dead these sixteen years, but I have not had an auction over her clothing; don't you suppose that. I'll just light the candle and unlock the press, and you shall have a change.'
He took a key from his pocket and opened the wardrobe. He had kindled a tallow candle at the logs that burned on the hearth, and he held this at the open door.
Mrs. Marley saw an assemblage of garments suspended within, none belonging to a man, and of all sorts and materials.
'Will you have a stuff or a silken gown?' he asked, and looked at her. He fumbled dubiously among the garments.
'But see—suit yourself—there be of all kinds there. They belonged to my wife. She is gone aloft where they dress in gossamer and swansdown. I keep these for Jack's wife, when he is pleased to marry. But the moth plays the deuce with them. Go either where the maiden sleeps or under the stair, where is a berth. Pass me out your streaming rags, and I'll hang them up to dry. By the Lord, you will be crippled with rheumatics if you do not shift at once. There is your child crying out again! I'll take my fiddle. Give a look in on her, and put on dry things. I'll play her a tune.'
'That will rouse her.'
'No, it will soothe her. I'll give her no hornpipes, but something soft and slumbrous.'
Then he began to hum, 'Once I loved a maiden fair.' He stood in the midst of the floor, balancing his arms, and dancing his hands to the rhythm of the air.