way and that with his hands, seeking vainly for something to cling to on the whitewashed wall. In his depth of utter misery he gave way and sobbed several times. Then once more he had the warm taste of blood in his mouth. Terror-stricken, he staggered into the house.
This time a voice answered to his knock. He opened the door.
The room contained no article of furniture. In one corner lay some rags, and on the mantelpiece stood a tin teapot, two cups, and a plate. There was no fire, but a few pieces of wood lay near the hearth, and at the bottom of the open cupboard remained a very small supply of coals. A candle made fast in the neck of a bottle was the source of light.
On the floor was sitting, or lying, an animated object, indescribable; Bob knew it for Mrs. Candy. Her eyes looked up at him apprehensively.
“I want to stay the night over, if you’ll let me,” he said, when he had closed the door. “I’ve got to hide away; nobody mustn’t know as I’m here.”
“You’re welcome,” the woman replied, in a voice which was horrible to hear.
