st now left.
Mr Haredale unbuckled his sword and laid it on the table, with a pair of
pocket pistols; then told the locksmith he would light him to the door.

'But this is a dull place, sir,' said Gabriel lingering; 'may no one
share your watch?'

He shook his head, and so plainly evinced his wish to be alone, that
Gabriel could say no more. In another moment the locksmith was standing
in the street, whence he could see that the light once more travelled
upstairs, and soon returning to the room below, shone brightly through
the chinks of the shutters.

If ever man were sorely puzzled and perplexed, the locksmith was, that
night. Even when snugly seated by his own fireside, with Mrs Varden
opposite in a nightcap and night-jacket, and Dolly beside him (in a
most distracting dishabille) curling her hair, and smiling as if she had
never cried in all her life and never could--even then, with Toby at
his elbow and his pipe in his mouth, and Miggs (but that perhaps was not
much) falling asleep in the background, he could not quite discard his
wonder and uneasiness. So in his dreams--still there was Mr Haredale,
haggard and careworn, listening in the solitary house to every sound
that stirred, with the taper shining through the chinks until the day
should turn it pale and end his lonely watching.

Chapter 43

Next morning brought no satisfaction to the locksmith's thoughts,
nor next day, nor the next, nor many others. Often after nightfall he
entered the street, and turned his eyes towards the well-known house;
and as surely as he did so, there was the solitary light, still gleaming
through the crevices of the window-shutter, while all within was
motionless, noiseless, cheerless, as a grave. Unwilling to hazard Mr
Haredale's favour by disobeying his strict injunction, he never ventured
to knock at the door or to make his presence known in any way. But
whenever strong interest and curiosity attracted him to the spot--which
was not seldom--the light was always there.

If he could have known what passed within, the knowledge would have
yielded him no clue to this mysterious vigil. At twilight, Mr Haredale
shut himself up, and at daybreak he came forth. He never missed a night,
always came and went alone, and never varied his proceedings in the
least degree.

The manner of his watch was this. At dusk, he entered the house in the
same way as when the locksmith bore him company, kindled a light, went
through the rooms,