The Brunswick times. [volume] (Brunswick, Ga.) 188?-1900, 1897-10-10

hook hidden by his coat flap.
Both men started at the first creak of
the stair.
George stood at the stair foot, blink
ing in the sudden light
"He's a-sleeping like the dead" he
whispered. Cant even hear him
breathe. His candles is burning yet. 1
see them through the keyhole. Come
on. -
All three stood together for moment
at the bottom of the stairway. There
was moments hesitation, while the
landlord and Mr.. Masters adjusted the
procession behind Bill, who had planted
his foot on the bottom stair. At this in
opportune instant the tall clock in the
corner struck / with a shrill, metallic
stroke, and Bill withdrew his foot sud
denly dropping the billhook. 1t fell to
the red tiles of the floor, which gave
back clang on clang.
Aghast at this mishap, the host push
ed his clumsy fingered servant back into
his place in the corner, Mr.. Masters
and himself reseating Themselves with
hastily assumed appearance of genial
domesticity.
But no startled guest appearing on
the stairs after ten minutes of complete
silence, the procession reformed in it's
old order and went up.
Outside the bedroom door they held
their breath and listened-not sound
but the ticking of the clock below, the
rushing of the wind without and the
moaning plant of the dog.
A stealthier man than the hostler,
the Landlord thrust a sleek hand for
ward to grasp the latch of the door. 1t
was unsecured and opened little way
under his gentle pressure. Through the
foot of opening they could see the two
waxen candles flame in the sockets as
they burned by the sleeping man. By
their light his legs modelled themselves
under the white Counterpart. His face
and shoulders were in the deep shadows
of the faded green curtains of the half
tester.
At the sight of the bed the heart of
the hostler became suddenly sick within
him. With white lips and shaking knees
he vacated his place in the procession
and pushing past the landlord, who was
still poising himself at the stair head, he
made his way to the room below. At
that moment, could their limbs have
borne them, his companions would have
followed him. They huddled together
in the corner of the landing, holding
their breath and listening until the
taproom door opened and shut and they
knew themselves alone with the sleeper
For the terror of those strained min
utes it might have been the old man be-
hind the curtains who was the ambush
ed watcher.
The wind had lulled, and the rain,
falling ceaselessly and silently, made no
sound on the matched roof. For awhile
the dog was silent in the yard.
This was an old man, scant of breath,
OR surely his breathing could have been
heard in the dreadful calmness of the
night.
The landlord, with his shoulders
raised, had stolen on tiptoe into the
room. One Of the candles was now gut
tering and flaring preparatory to going
out The fragment Of the other burned
on with long, red, smoking wick,
lighting up the bright point of the rusty
case knife clinohed in his fingers
He glanced upward at the brutal fea-
lures of the footpad Their eyes met
with the same thought in each. 1t was
the recollection of that other night
when they had stolen into that room to
rob another helpless, sleeping old man
of sleep and life.
The great silence was not to be borne
The footpad put out his hand and thrust
the landlord forward by the shoulder.
He drew back, stumbling heavily. As
he recovered himself they both sprang
forward toward the bed and tore back
the old green curtains.
Behind these, his poor white face
thrown back over the pillows, lay the
old man, his thin hands rigidly grasp
ing the edges of the sheet drawn up
close under his chin. They leaned over
the bed and half drew back.
'By God, tits very like himp' said
the landlord in whisper.
George had his hands ON the sheet
and pulled it back roughly.
"It is him, by Godp' he cried For
as he pulled back the sheet the last
candle fiared up and died down and
went out. Its last light shone on the
sleeper's throat, gashed across-horri-
bly, gaping-red and wet. This was no
stranger, but the man they had murder
ed year ago. They had left him just
so last Christmas morning.
There was a heavy fall on the floor
in the dark, and some one rushed to the
stair, screaming loudly.
The dog in the yard whined with
pleasure to hear human voice. and
then once more there was the silence of
death in the Hare and Billet
In the red haze of early Christmas
morning the hostler came up the sodden
lane, and with him, FLASHING in the
white water of the cart ruts, walked
the village constable and the bell ring
ers, who had adjourned from East
Wickham belfry to drink in Christmas
at the Old Fox Marching with them
were the unsteady white CATERS of two
urar q Il iarS f11rlO11 chino in tho Vi11ouo