"
One evening late in October Mr. Jakes did not come as usual to bring Sir
Nicholas his supper at five o'clock; the time passed and still he did not
come. This was very unusual. Presently Mrs. Jakes appeared instead,
carrying the food which she set down at the door while she turned the key
behind her. Sir Nicholas rallied her on having turned gaoler; but she
turned on him a face with red eyes and lined with weeping.
"O Sir Nicholas," she said, for these two were good friends, "what a
wicked place this is! God forgive me for saying so; but they've had that
young man down there since two o'clock; and Jakes is with them to help;
and he told me to come up to you, Sir Nicholas, with your supper, if they
weren't done by five; and if the young gentleman hadn't said what they
wanted."
Sir Nicholas felt sick.
"Who is it?" he asked.
"Why, who but Mr. Stewart?" she said; and then fell weeping again, and
went out forgetting to lock the door behind her in her grief. Sir
Nicholas sat still a moment, sick and shaken; he knew what it meant; but
it had never come so close to him before. He got up presently and went to
the door to listen for he knew not what. But there was no sound but the
moan of the wind up the draughty staircase, and the sound of a prisoner
singing somewhere above him a snatch of a song. He looked out presently,
but there was nothing but the dark well of the staircase disappearing
round to the left, and the glimmer of an oil lamp somewhere from the
depths below him, with wavering shadows as the light was blown about by
the gusts that came up from outside.
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