“Doesn’t thou think,” he said, “thou hast done enough for to-day? Aye, that’s right, shut it to.”
Isaac having done so rather sharply.
“Nay,” he went on. “Never trouble thyself to put the books away, the youth Perkins shall do it for to-night.”
Now, Perkins, as may be remembered, was he who had misused the day-book on a certain former occasion, and so supposing that Reuben was joking him, Isaac said, rather sulkily:
“Perkins shan’t touch them.”
“Well, well,” said Reuben mildly, “if it will please thee better, I will even put them by myself,” and he forthwith began to suit the action to the word.
Now, though Reuben seeing that Isaac was ill, was only anxious to spare him exertion, the latter, full of the great mystery in which he was so dreadfully involved, saw only the desire to meddle with the causes of his woe, and all at once his mind became possessed with dark suspicions.
“Could Reuben suspect anything? Impossible! And yet, why this wish to handle the books?” Whatever might be the reason it must not be gratified. “I’m not going to leave them in the safe at all to-night, I’m going to take them up-stairs into my own room. I want to look over them,” said he.
“Thou’d far better leave them alone till to-morrow,” urged Reuben, “for I am sure thou art not fit—well, well, as thou wilt—as thou wilt.”
So Isaac had them borne upstairs before him, of course with the intention of keeping them under his eye, until he had made up his mind as to what course to pursue. He did keep them under his eye during the evening, and carried them into his bedroom, when he went there himself, placing them on a chair by his bedside, and carefully locking his room door.
“They’re safe for to-night,” thought Isaac, as he regarded them mournfully, “but it’s dreadful to think that I shall have to watch them in this way constantly.”
He took one last look at their fair proportions just before extinguishing his candle, and after putting his hand out of bed once or twice to feel them, turned over and slept the sleep of the weary. As his last waking care had been for the books, so was his first: he raised himself in bed and took a glance; there they were, but—but surely not in the same order as when he last saw them. He was out on the floor in an instant; one short look was sufficient, he fell back into the bed, and trembled till the couch shook again. Then a ray of hope fell upon him: had he left the door open? Willing to find his memory treacherous, he rose and tried the door; locked even as he had left it. And now, poor Isaac in despair, became firmly convinced that he was the victim of some evil spirit, and shuddered at the thought of his cotenant during “the dead waste and middle of the night.” Long time took he to dress, and a miserable man did he look when he presented himself at the breakfast table. Though breakfast was a mere form with him, he lingered so long in his chair, that Mrs. Hall, the housekeeper, seriously alarmed at this state of things, quietly went and begged Reuben (an early man) to come upstairs and persuade Isaac to forego attendance at his duties for the day.
“Why, Isaac, what’s the matter with thee to-day?” began Reuben, cheerily, but stopped short, shocked at the change in the other’s appearance. “Thou art surely very ill,” said he, more quietly.
“Nay, not ill,” said Isaac, faintly.
“Not ill!” said Reuben, “then thy appearance belies thee greatly; but if not, what then?”
Isaac sat silent for a while, and then burst out suddenly, “Why, if I tell the truth, I should say I was tormented by the devil.”
“Be not profane, Isaac,” said Reuben seriously, but then went on kindly: “Thee hast got something on thy mind: would it not comfort thee think’st thou, to let me know it?”
Thus adjured, Isaac poured out his story in a flood, to the great amazement of the other, who, however, listened to the end without a word. But that which had begotten fear in Isaac Jackson’s breast, roused only indignation in the stout heart of Reuben Barlow, and he smote the table with his hand rather more emphatically than beseemed the breadth of his brim, and the uprightness of his collar.
“I tell thee, Isaac,” he said, with a grim smile, “this is more carnal than spiritual work; but let me see it with mine own eyes.”
And off marched Reuben to Isaac’s bedroom, returning with the maltreated books.
“Truly,” he remarked, “this man—or fiend as thou wilt have it—hath a marvellous knack of imitating thy hand.”
“No man could do it,” quoth Isaac.
“I will prove to thee that some man hath done it,” retorted Reuben. “I will take my own stand in thy office this night, and if haply I light upon him—”
Reuben involuntary clenched his fist, and stretched forth his muscular right arm. Albeit, a member of a peaceable sect, his action was significant to the meanest capacity of his intention to make this outrage felt by the captured perpetrator.
But Isaac would not hear of solitary watch being kept, “for,” said he, “if you go to sleep as I did, all your trouble will be lost;” so that Reuben was forced to let him join in the vigil. They watched in company therefore, all night, without any disturbance, rather to Reuben’s disgust, who said at seven o’clock in the morning,
“Well, we’ve kept thy books safe, but otherwise, are just as we were; this man must know when watch is kept, and is wise enough to stay away out of trouble.”
“Don’t be so sure the books are all right,” said Isaac, drearily.
“What!” cried Reuben, “would thou have me take up thy absurd and profane notions! Let us look for ourselves;” and so saying, he opened the safe, and there, sure enough, were the books untouched and unaltered.
“Now, what say’st thou? asked Reuben.
Isaac was obliged to admit himself somewhat re-assured, and said that perhaps the mischief-maker had got tired of his joke.
“Well, thou can’st try by giving him the chance to-night,” returned Reuben.
