The Stranger was beneath
his outraged roof. Three steps would take him to
his chamber-door. One blow would beat it in. 'You
might do murder before you know it,' Tackleton had
said. How could it be murder, if he gave the villain
time to grapple with him hand to hand! He was the
younger man.
It was an ill-timed thought, bad for the dark mood
of his mind. It was an angry thought, goading him
to some avenging act, that should change the cheerful
house into a haunted place which lonely travellers
would dread to pass by night; and where the timid
would see shadows struggling in the ruined windows
when the moon was dim, and hear wild noises in the
stormy weather.
He was the younger man! Yes, yes; some lover
who had won the heart that he had never touched.
Some lover of her early choice, of whom she had
thought and dreamed, for whom she had pined and
pined, when he had fancied her so happy by his side.
O agony to think of it!
She had been above-stairs with the Baby, getting it
to bed. As he sat brooding on the hearth, she came
close beside him, without his knowledge -- in the turn-
ing of the rack of his great misery, he lost all other
sounds -- and put her little stool at his feet.
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