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AND THE GHOST'S BARGAIN. 381 |
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and who had kept aloof, in the remotest corner of the room. He seemed to be about his own age; and although he knew no such hopeless decay and broken man as he appeared to be, there was something in the turn of his figure, as he stood with his back towards him, and now went out at the door, that made him pass his hand uneasily across his brow.
" William," he said in a gloomy whisper, " who is that man ?"
"Why you see, Sir," returned Mr. William, "that's what I say, myself. Why should a man ever go and gamble, and the like of that, and let himself down inch by inch till he can't let himself down any lower ! "
"Has lie done so?" asked Redlaw, glancing after him with the same uneasy action as before.
"Just exactly that, Sir," returned William Swidger, "as I'm told. He knows a little about medicine, Sir, it seems ; and having been wayfaring towards London with my unhappy brother that you see here," Mr. William passed his coat-sleeve across his eyes, "and being lodging up stairs for the night—what I say, you see, is that strange companions come together here sometimes—he looked in to attend upon him, and came for us at his request. What a mournful spectacle, Sir! But that's where it is. It's enough to kill my father!"
Redlaw looked up, at these words, and, recalling where he was and with whom, and the spell he carried with him—which his surprise had obscured—retired a little, hurriedly, debating with himself whether to shun the house that moment, or remain.
Yielding to a certain sullen doggedness, which it seemed to be a part of his condition to struggle with, he argued for remaining.
"Was it only yesterday," he said, "when I observed the memory of this old man to be a tissue of sorrow and trouble, and shall I be afraid, to-night, to shake it ? Are such remembrances as I can drive away, so precious to this dying man that I need fear for him ? No ! I'll stay here."
But he stayed, in fear and trembling none the less for these words; and, shrouded in his black cloak with his face turned from them, stood away from the bedside, listening to what they said, as if he felt himself a demon in the place.
" Father !" murmured the sick man, rallying a little from his stupor.
" My boy ! My son George !" said old Philip.
" You spoke, just now, of my being mother's favourite, long ago. It's a dreadful thing to think now, of long ago !"
" No, no, no;" returned the old man. " Think of it. Don't say it's dreadful. It's not dreadful to me, my son." |
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