and narrowly examined them. That done, he returned to
the chamber on the ground-floor, and laying his sword and pistols on the
table, sat by it until morning.

He usually had a book with him, and often tried to read, but never fixed
his eyes or thoughts upon it for five minutes together. The slightest
noise without doors, caught his ear; a step upon the pavement 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, and a
small flask of wine. The latter diluted with large quantities of water,
he drank in a heated, feverish way, as though his throat were dried; but
he scarcely ever broke his fast, by so much as a crumb of bread.

If this voluntary sacrifice of sleep and comfort had its origin, as the
locksmith on consideration was disposed to think, in any superstitious
expectation of the fulfilment of a dream or vision connected with the
event on which he had brooded for so many years, and if he waited for
some ghostly visitor who walked abroad when men lay sleeping in their
beds, he showed no trace of fear or wavering. His stern features
expressed inflexible resolution; his brows were puckered, and his lips
compressed, with deep and settled purpose; and when he started at a
noise and listened, it was not with the start of fear but hope, and
catching up his sword as though 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 almost every
sound, but his constancy was not shaken. Still, every night he was at
his post, the same stern, sleepless, sentinel; and still night passed,
and morning dawned, and he must watch again.

This went on for weeks; he had taken a lodging at Vauxhall in which
to pass the day and rest himself; and from this place, when the tide
served, he usually came to London Bridge from Westminster by water, in
order that he might avoid the busy streets.

One evening, shortly before twilight, he came his accustomed road upon
the river's bank, intending to pass through Westminster Hall into Palace
Yard, and there take boat to London Bridge as usual. There was a pretty
large concourse of people assembled round the Houses of Parliament,
looking at the members as they entered and departed, and giving vent to
rather noisy demonstrations of approval or disli