Next morning brought no satisfaction to the locksmith"s thoughts,nor next day, nor the next, nor many others. Often after nightfallhe entered the street, and turned his eyes towards the well-knownhouse; and as surely as he did so, there was the solitary light,still gleaming through the crevices of the window-shutter, whileall within was motionless, noiseless, cheerless, as a grave.
Unwilling to hazard Mr Haredale"s favour by disobeying his strictinjunction, he never ventured to knock at the door or to make hispresence known in any way. But whenever strong interest and curiosity attracted him to the spot--which was not seldom--thelight was always there.
If he could have known what passed within, the knowledge would haveyielded him no clue to this mysterious vigil. At twilight, MrHaredale shut himself up, and at daybreak he came forth. He nevermissed a night, always came and went alone, and never varied hisproceedings in the least degree.
The manner of his watch was this. At dusk, he entered the house inthe same way as when the locksmith bore him company, kindled alight, went through the rooms, and narrowly examined them. Thatdone, he returned to the chamber on the ground-floor, and layinghis sword and pistols on the table, sat by it until morning.
He usually had a book with him, and often tried to read, but neverfixed his eyes or thoughts upon it for five minutes together. Theslightest noise without doors, caught his ear; a step upon thepavement seemed to make his heart leap.
He was not without some refreshment during the long lonely hours;generally carrying in his pocket a sandwich of bread and meat, anda small flask of wine. The latter diluted with large quantities of water, he drank in a heated, feverish way, as though his throatwere dried; but he scarcely ever broke his fast, by so much as acrumb of bread.
If this voluntary sacrifice of sleep and comfort had its origin, asthe locksmith on consideration was disposed to think, in anysuperstitious expectation of the fulfilment of a dream or visionconnected with the event on which he had brooded for so many years,and if he waited for some ghostly visitor who walked abroad whenmen lay sleeping in their beds, he showed no trace of fear orwavering. His stern features expressed inflexible resolution; hisbrows were puckered, and his lips compressed, with deep and settledpurpose; and when he started at a noise and listened, it was notwith the start of fear but hope, and catching up his sword asthough the hour had come at last, he would clutch it in his tight-clenched hand, and listen with sparkling eyes and eager looks,until it died away.
These disappointments were numerous, for they ensued on almostevery sound, but his constancy was not shaken. Still, every nighthe was at his post, the same stern, sleepless, sentinel; and stillnight passed, and morning dawned, and he must watch again.
This went on for weeks; he had taken a lodging at Vauxhall in whichto pass the day and rest himself; and from this place, when thetide served, he usually came to London Bridge from Westminster bywater, in order that he might avoid the busy streets.
One evening, shortly before twilight, he came his accustomed roadupon the river"s bank, intending to pass through Westminster Hallinto Palace Yard, and there take boat to London Bridge as usual.
There was a pretty large concourse of people assembled round theHouses of Parliament, looking at the members as they entered anddeparted, and giving vent to rather noisy demonstrations ofapproval or dislike, according to their known opinions. As he madehis way among the throng, he heard once or twice the No-Popery cry,which was then becoming pretty familiar to the ears of most men;but holding it in very slight regard, and observing that the idlerswere of the lowest grade, he neither thought nor cared about it,but made his way along, with perfect indifference.
There were many little knots and groups of persons in WestminsterHall: some few looking upward at its noble ceiling, and at the raysof evening light, tinted by the setting sun, which streamed inaslant through its small windows, and growing dimmer by degrees,were quenched in the gathering gloom below; some, noisy passengers, mechanics going home from work, and otherwise, who hurried quicklythrough, waking the echoes with their voices, and soon darkeningthe small door in the distance, as they passed into the streetbeyond; some, in busy conference together on political or privatematters, pacing slowly up and down with eyes that sought theground, and seeming, by their attitudes, to listen earnestly fromhead to foot. Here, a dozen squabbling urchins made a very Babelin the air; there, a solitary man, half clerk, half mendicant,paced up and down with hungry dejection in his look and gait; athis elbow passed an errand-lad, swinging his basket round andround, and with his shrill whistle riving the very timbers of theroof; while a more observant schoolboy, half-way through, pocketedhis ball, and eyed the distant beadle as he came looming on. Itwas that time of evening when, if you shut your eyes and open themagain, the darkness of an hour appears to have gathered in asecond. The smooth-worn pavement, dusty with footsteps, stillcalled upon the lofty walls to reiterate the shuffle and the treadof feet unceasingly, save when the closing of some heavy doorresounded through the building like a clap of thunder, and drownedall other noises in its rolling sound.
Mr Haredale, glancing only at such of these groups as he passednearest to, and then in a manner betokening that his thoughts were elsewhere, had nearly traversed the Hall, when two persons beforehim caught his attention. One of these, a gentleman in elegantattire, carried in his hand a cane, which he twirled in a jauntymanner as he loitered on; the other, an obsequious, crouching,fawning figure, listened to what he said--at times throwing in ahumble word himself--and, with his shoulders shrugged up to hisears, rubbed his hands submissively, or answered at intervals by aninclination of the head, half-way between a nod of acquiescence,and a bow of most profound respect.
