Pringle was there, as usual, to attend to the different callers, so far as it was possible for him to do so in the absence of his chief. Many were the inquiries during the day as to the probable date of Van Duren's return.
"He may be here at any time, or he may be away for another week. Most uncertain in his movements," Pringle would say to the inquirers. And as soon as they were gone he would rub his hands, and chuckle to himself, and mutter: "Revenged at last! Every dog has his day, and mine has come now."
And so the day slowly wore itself through till evening came round again. Pringle shut up the office at the usual time, and then, after a hearty tea, he prepared to sally forth for the evening's enjoyment. He told himself that he would take the entire round of the haunts where he was known, indulging himself with a glass or two at each of them, and have, altogether, a very pleasant time of it.
Before starting he went to bid Van Duren good-bye.
"If the postman comes while I'm out, you'll kindly take in the letters, won't you?" he said, with a sneer. "There have been more inquiries than usual for you to-day. What fun it was to send them off--some with one excuse, and some with another--and you within a dozen yards of them all the time! But I must go now. You are very pleasant company, Mr. Van Duren, but I must leave you for a little while."
Thus saying, Pringle locked the outer door, and having made sure that he had the latch-key in his pocket, he put down the kitchen gas, and let himself out by way of the front door, which he clashed to after him with a bang loud enough to wake every dismal echo that had its lodgment in the dismal old house in the churchyard.
It was close upon midnight when Jonas Pringle came picking his way carefully along the silent streets in the direction of Spur Alley. This care on his part was necessitated by the number and strength of the potations in which he had indulged during the evening. He knew quite well what he was about; he knew that he had taken more than was good for him; he knew that his course along the streets was rather a mazy one; he knew that his speech was a little thick, and that short words were infinitely preferable to long ones; but for all that, it was only his legs that were affected: his head was still as coldly calculating as ever it had been.
He had just turned the corner of Spur Alley, and was within a few yards of the house, when suddenly a woman, who had been sitting in the shadow of the steps, sprang to her feet, stood for a moment gazing fixedly at him, and then took to her heels and quickly disappeared round the opposite corner. A presentiment that it was his daughter shot through Pringle's heart the moment he set eyes on her. He shouted to her to stop, but she never even turned her head. He made an abortive attempt to run after her, but that was equally unavailing. Then he sat down on the steps where his daughter had been sitting--for he felt sure that it was she--and began to cry.
He was roused by the clocks striking the half-hour after midnight. He got up, shivering from head to foot, and let himself in by means of the latch-key. He did not go downstairs, but stumbled his way to his own room, and, without undressing, flung himself on his pallet, and slept unbrokenly till long after broad daylight.
He lighted the kitchen fire and got his breakfast ready before going near his prisoner. Last night's excitement and dissipation had left him, if such a thing were possible, harder and more cruel than before. Not one single grain of pity for his wretched victim made itself felt in his heart when, after breakfast, he went and knocked at the door of the strong-room. He was still convinced that it was his daughter whom he had seen over-night, and the sight of her only served to freshen up his wrongs, and to intensify a hatred that needed no additional fuel.