Oh! how I did wish we were well at home! And how I did lie—lie upon thorns and listen for him to go well to sleep, that I might creep out and learn everything of Josephine. And how I blamed myself that, before I came to bed, I didn't go and hear all she had to say!—But then I was in such a hurry to have Fred all safe, and the key in my own possession—safe under my pillow—and I thought he would so soon go to sleep, and he hadn't! Which made it plain to me that he had something on his mind: and that something—oh, how I did abominate that Mr. Truepenny. No; I thought to myself—as I lay awake, waiting for Fred to go off, that is, if he was going to sleep at all—no: Mr. Truepenny: you never enter my house. You never cross the threshold of the Flitch. A pretty friend indeed to take a man out—and that man newly married—to be shot like a sheep; and to leave a lonely, unprotected, broken-hearted—
The bitter thought was too much for me, I wept in good earnest; but cried so quietly—I was almost choked—for fear Fred, for he was not asleep, should hear me! Oh, and again and again I thought, if ever we do get home! What a home I'll make it! And still—and I was sure of it—still he was awake.
And then I thought, suppose he should not go to sleep at all. Suppose he should get up and—well, no matter; I was resolved: I'd get up with him. I'd go with him. I'd cling to him. I'd never leave him. I'd call assistance, constables—
And now it was broad daylight, and—yes, surely, he was asleep? I listened; and I couldn't be mistaken: no, I was sure he slept. And then I rose gently—very, very gently to look, and—yes,—he was in a deep sleep. His face—that beautiful face—was white, white and hushed and still as marble! Oh, how much I seemed to learn—how much more to live in that minute—looking, looking—and he—all the time as if there was some dreadful story under that deep stillness!
I rose quietly as possible; hardly breathing. But still he slept—I was sure of that. I took the key from under my pillow. Oh, that dreadful lock! It was old and rusty, and began to creak and squeak; and I holding my breath, and almost standing upon my tiptoes trying to turn the key. At last, with a grating noise the lock turned. I passed—he was still asleep. I opened the door; and was about to pass to Josephine's, when something whispered me, lock the door again. I did so; for I couldn't be too sure. So I locked the door—that casket-door, as I thought—for Fred lay sleeping.
Fortunately, Josephine's door was unlocked; though—I had not time to speak of it at the moment, not but that the thought struck me at the very instant—though how a young woman could go to bed without double-locking her door I couldn't understand, although on second thoughts perhaps she had left it open for me—and Josephine fast asleep. Fast! in fact, as I said, anybody—that is, any robber—might have come in and stripped everything, and she been none the wiser. At last, by nudging and shaking I woke her.
"Murder!" she half-cried; but I put my hand before her mouth.
"Silence! you foolish creature! You needn't cry out so! It's only"—
"La!" said the girl; "I was dreaming; and you did a little startle me. I thought it was true."
"Now, Josephine! what is it? I mean about your master"—