He turned on his heel, and even before they were aware that he had left the room, he was on his way through the street.
His course was now to his old den. When he reached it, he found even that paragon of clerks, Mr. Kornicker, absent. This was a relief; for he was too much excited to care to have any witness of his appearance.
'It struck seven as I passed the town-clock,' said he. 'It wants an hour to the time fixed. I'll wait.'
Although it was dark, he flung himself on a chair, without striking a light, and sat for some time in silence, tapping the floor with his foot. But rest was not the thing for his present mood; and he soon started up, and paced the room, muttering to himself. At last the clock struck eight. The lights, which shining from the windows in different parts of the building, somewhat relieved the gloom of his room, were extinguished one by one, and it became pitchy dark. Rust lighted a candle; placed it on the mantel-piece, and stood looking at it for some moments. He heard a step on the stairs; but it ascended to the floor beyond, then descended, and went out in the street. He looked at his watch; it was but five minutes after eight. 'God! how slow the time went!' Perhaps his watch had stopped. He put it to his ear: tick, tick, tick! There seemed an interval of a minute between every stroke. 'Five minutes past eight; ten minutes more, and she will be here,' muttered he; 'and then I shall know the worst.'
He put the watch in his pocket; and looking at the ceiling, attempted to whistle; but it would not do. His blood was in a fever. Hark!—was that a footstep on the stairs? No, it was only the tread of a person overhead. Hist! what's that? He stood stock-still, and listened. There was a slight shuffling noise in the passage; and then a faint tap at the door.
Rust sprang forward, and opened it. A female, muffled in an old cloak, stood cowering on the outside.
'Ha! it's you at last!' exclaimed he, in that abrupt, energetic manner, which suited his character better than his more usual tones. 'What news?'
The woman, either to gain time, or because she was really exhausted, staggered to a chair, and turning her face to the light, revealed the features of Mrs. Blossom.
'Ah's me! ah's me!' said she, leaning back, and sighing heavily. 'It's a wearisome way I've come, old and feeble as I am—old and feeble, old and feeble—a very wearisome way.'
There must have been something in the look of Rust, who stood before her with his black, glowing eye fixed on her's, that was peculiarly startling; for she paused in her whining, and turning to him, said: