Holdsworth was about to quit the window when he caught sight of Mr. Conway coming out of his gate. He fell a step back, and watched the man from behind the curtain. Mr. Conway advanced a few yards along his own side of the road, and then crossed, with his eyes fixed on Holdsworth’s window.
Was he coming to the house? He moved softly and furtively, and when he was abreast of Mrs. Parrot’s gate, threw a glance behind him, pushed the gate open, and knocked.
As Holdsworth did not know the man to speak to, he did not for a moment suppose that this visit was meant for him. Much was he surprised, and even agitated, when Mrs. Parrot came in and said that Mr. Conway was in the passage, and would like to see him.
The first idea that rushed into Holdsworth’s head was, “I am known!” But conjectures were out of the question, for the man was waiting. “Pray show Mr. Conway in,” he said; and in Mr. Conway came.
Holdsworth bowed, and so did the other, with a kind of spasmodic grace—a good bow spoiled by nervousness. He had dressed himself with care; he was cleanly shaved; his hair was carefully brushed; his shirt collars were white; and his boots shone.
Holdsworth had never before seen him so close. The light from the window fell upon his face and showed the cobweb of veins in his eyes, the puffy whiteness of his skin, the blueness of his lips, the tinge of gleaming purple about his nostrils, and all the other signals which the alcoholic fiend stamps upon the countenances of his votaries, so that, let them go where they will, they may be known and loathed by honest men as his adopted children.
But he was sober now; as sober as a man can be who has drunk but a glass of ale since he left his bed, but whose flesh is soaked with the abomination of the taverns, and whose brain can never be steady for the fumes that rise incessantly into it.
“Mr. Hampden, I believe?” he exclaimed in a creamy voice, standing near the door, which Mrs. Parrot had shut behind him, and twisting his hat in his hands.
“Yes; pray be seated,” replied Holdsworth, looking at him steadily, certain now that the object of this visit was not what he had imagined it.