"The burning out of
that one was enough for him. I'm sure he took contrition to himself, as
if it had been made of gold."
"What is it, then?"
"Well," said Judith, looking round, as if fearing the walls would hear,
and speaking mysteriously, "it's about Mr. Hamish. I don't know but I
_will_ tell you, Miss Constance, and it'll be, so far, a weight off my
mind. I was just saying to myself that I had heard of ghosts walking,
but what Mr. Hamish does every blessed night, I never did hear of, in
all my born days."
Constance felt a little startled. "What does he do?" she hastily asked.
"You know, Miss Constance, my bedroom's overhead, above the kitchen
here, and, being built out on the side, I can see the windows at the
back of the house from it--as we can see 'em from this kitchen window,
for the matter of that, if we put our heads out. About a twelvemonth
ago--I'm sure its not far short of it--I took to notice that the light
in Mr. Hamish's chamber wasn't put out so soon as it was in the other
rooms. So, one night, when I was half-crazy with that face-ache--you
remember my having it, Miss Constance?--and knew I shouldn't get to
sleep, if I lay down, I thought I'd just see how long he kept it in.
Would you believe, Miss Constance, that at three o'clock in the morning
his light was still burning?"
"Well," said Constance, feeling the tale was not half told.
"I thought, what on earth could he be after? I might have feared that
he had got into bed and left it alight by mistake, but that I saw his
shadow once or twice pass the blind.
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