“So there is,” said the jeweller, trying to look cheerful. “You've got a good face, Brother Burge, and you'll do a lot of good by your preaching. There is honesty written in every feature.”
Mr. Burge turned and surveyed himself in the small pier-glass. “Yes,” he said, somewhat discontentedly, “I don't look enough like a burglar to suit some of 'em.”
“Some people are hard to please,” said the other warmly.
Mr. Burge started and eyed him thoughtfully, and then as Mr. Higgs after some hesitation walked into the shop to turn the gas out, stood in the doorway watching him. A smothered sigh as he glanced round the shop bore witness to the state of his feelings.
The jeweller hesitated again in the parlour, and then handing Brother Burge his candle turned out the gas, and led the way slowly upstairs to the room which had been prepared for the honoured visitor. He shook hands at the door and bade him an effusive good-night, his voice trembling despite himself as he expressed a hope that Mr. Burge would sleep well. He added casually that he himself was a very light sleeper.
To-night sleep of any kind was impossible. He had given up the front room to his guest, and his own window looked out on an over-grown garden. He sat trying to read, with his ears alert for the slightest sound. Brother Burge seemed to be a long time undressing. For half an hour after he had retired he could hear him moving restlessly about his room.
Twelve o'clock struck from the tower of the parish church, and was followed almost directly by the tall clock standing in the hall down-stairs. Scarcely had the sounds died away than a low moaning from the next room caused the affrighted jeweller to start from his chair and place his ear against the wall. Two or three hollow groans came through the plaster, followed by ejaculations which showed clearly that Brother Burge was at that moment engaged in a terrified combat with the Powers of Darkness to decide whether he should, or should not, rifle his host's shop. His hands clenched and his ear pressed close to the wall, the jeweller listened to a monologue which increased in interest with every word.
“I tell you I won't,” said the voice in the next room with a groan, “I won't. Get thee behind me—Get thee—No, and don't shove me over to the door; if you can't get behind me without doing that, stay where you are. Yes, I know it's a fortune as well as what you do; but it ain't mine.”
The listener caught his breath painfully.
“Diamond rings,” continued Brother Burge in a suffocating voice. “Stop it, I tell you. No, I won't just go and look at 'em.”