Smugg had some bread and cheese in his own
room; he said that he had letters to write. We dined
largely, and drank still more largely; then we sang, and at
last--it was near on twelve, a terrible hour for that
neighborhood--we made our way, amid much boisterousness and
horseplay, to bed; where I, at least, was asleep in five minutes.
As the church clock struck two, I awoke. I heard a sound of
movement in Smugg's room next door. I lay and listened.
Presently his door opened, and he creaked gently downstairs. I
sprang out of bed and looked out of the window. Smugg, fully
dressed, was gliding along the path toward Dill's farm. Some
impulse--curiosity only, very likely--made me jump into my
trousers, seize a flannel jacket, draw on a pair of boots, and
hastily follow him. When I got outside he was visible in the
moonlight, mounting the path ahead of me. He held on his way
toward the farm, I following. When he reached the yard he
stopped for a moment, and seemed to peer up at the windows, which
were all dark and unresponsive. I stood as quiet as I could,
twenty yards from him, and moved cautiously on again when he
turned to the right and passed through the gate into the meadows.
I saw no signs of Pyrrha. Smugg held on his way across the
meadows, down toward the stream; and suddenly the thought leaped
to my brain that the poor fool meant to drown himself. But I
could hardly believe it.
Pages:
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57