"It is an angry night," said Richard Manx. "I will--a--continue what I was saying. It is Wednesday of a week past. I in my garret sit and I smoke. I hear the sound. It is what you call--a--secret. To myself I think there is in that house next to this the blood of a man murdered. Why shall there not be in this house, to-morrow that rises, the blood of one other man murdered. And that man! Who shall it be? Myself--I. So I rouse my courage up, and descend from my garret in the moon to the door of the street. Creeping--is that so, your word?--creeping after me a spirit comes--not for me to see, not for me to touch--but to hear with my ears. All is dark. In the passage appear you, and ask me what? I tell you, and you laugh--but not laugh well, it is like a cry--and you say, it is--a fancy; it is nothing I hear. And you, with hands so"--(clasping his hands together, somewhat tragically)--"beg of me not to any speak of what I hear. I consent; I say, I will not of it speak."
"And you 'aven't?" inquired Mrs. Preedy, anxiously.
Richard Manx laid his hand on his breast. "On my honour, no; I speak not of it. I think myself, 'The lady of the house is--a--right. I hear only--a--fancy. I will not trouble. I will let to-morrow come.' It come, and another to-morrow, and another, and still another. Nothing I hear. But to-night--again! I am smoking myself in bed. Be not afraid--I shall not put your house in a fire. It would not be bad. You are what they call insured?" Mrs. Preedy nodded. "Listen you--comes the rain. Ah--and the wind. God in heaven! that fire-flash!"
It blinded them for a moment or two. Then, after the briefest interval, pealed the thunder, with a crash which almost deafened them. Instinctively, Richard Manx drew nearer to Mrs. Preedy, and she also moved closer to him. At such times as this, when nature appears to be warring against mortals, the human craving for companionship and visible, palpable sympathy most strongly asserts itself.
Either the breaking of the storm, or some other cause, had produced a strange effect upon Becky, whom Mrs. Preedy supposed to be sleeping in the little room adjoining the kitchen; for the girl in her night-dress was kneeling on the ground, with her head close to the door, listening, with her heart and soul in her ears, to the conversation between her mistress and the young man lodger. It would have astonished Mrs. Preedy considerably had she detected her maid-of-all-work in such a position.