“Thenightbeingsobad, sir,” saidthewatchman, ashegavemebackmyglass, “, Idon’tcalltomindanothersinceabouteleveno’clock, whenastrangeraskedforyou.”
“Myuncle,” Imuttered.“Yes.”
“Yousawhim, sir?”
“.”
“Likewisethepersonwithhim?”
“Personwithhim!” Irepeated.
“Ijudgedthepersontobewithhim,” returnedthewatchman.“Thepersonstopped, whenhestoppedtomakeinquiryofme, andthepersontookthiswaywhenhetookthisway.”
“Whatsortofperson?”
Thewatchmanhadnotparticularlynoticed; heshouldsayaworkingperson; tothebestofhisbelief, hehadadust-coloredkindofclotheson, , andnaturally; nothavingmyreasonforattachingweighttoit.
WhenIhadgotridofhim, whichIthoughtitwelltodowithoutprolongingexplanations, —as, forinstance, somediner-outordiner-at-home, whohadnotgonenearthiswatchman’sgate, mighthavestrayedtomystaircaseanddroppedasleepthere—andmynamelessvisitormighthavebroughtsomeonewithhimtoshowhimtheway—still, joined, theyhadanuglylooktooneaspronetodistrustandfearasthechangesofafewhourshadmademe.
Ilightedmyfire, whichburntwitharawpaleflareatthattimeofthemorning, , Idozedagain; now, wakingupuneasily, withprolixconversationsaboutnothing, inmyears; now, makingthunderofthewindinthechimney; atlength, fallingoffintoaprofoundsleepfromwhichthedaylightwokemewithastart.
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