Nigel accepted the careful sound of the bolts and bars as they were
severally drawn by the trembling hand of old Trapbois, as an omen that
the senior did not mean again to revisit him in the course of the
evening, and heartily rejoiced that he was at length to be left to
uninterrupted solitude.
The old woman asked if there was aught else to be done for his
accommodation; and, indeed, it had hitherto seemed as if the pleasure
of serving him, or more properly the reward which she expected, had
renewed her youth and activity. Nigel desired to have candles, to have
a fire lighted in his apartment, and a few fagots placed beside it,
that he might feed it from time to time, as he began to feel the
chilly effects of the damp and low situation of the house, close as it
was to the Thames. But while the old woman was absent upon his errand,
he began to think in what way he should pass the long solitary evening
with which he was threatened.
His own reflections promised to Nigel little amusement, and less
applause. He had considered his own perilous situation in every light
in which it could be viewed, and foresaw as little utility as comfort
in resuming the survey. To divert the current of his ideas, books
were, of course, the readiest resource; and although, like most of us,
Nigel had, in his time, sauntered through large libraries, and even
spent a long time there without greatly disturbing their learned
contents, he was now in a situation where the possession of a volume,
even of very inferior merit, becomes a real treasure.
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