Gum, looking at her
husband. "It gave me a turn. We've never seen a soul go near the place of
an evening since Pike has been there."
"Why should it give you a turn?" asked Mrs. Jones, who was in a mood
to contradict everything. "You've seen Pike often enough not to be
frightened at him when he keeps his distance."
"It wasn't Pike, Lydia. The man had an umbrella over him, and he looked
like a gentleman. Fancy Pike with an umbrella!"
"Was it Mr. Hillary?" interposed the clerk.
She shook her head. "I don't think so; but it was getting too dark to
see. Any way, it gave me a turn; and he's gone right up to Pike's shed."
"Gave you a turn, indeed!" scornfully repeated Mrs. Jones. "I think
you're getting more of an idiot every day, Nance. It's to be hoped
somebody's gone to take him up; that's what is to be hoped."
But Mr. Hillary it was. Hearing nothing from Jabez Gum all day, he had
come to the conclusion that that respectable man had ignored his promise,
and, unable to divest himself of the idea that Pike was ill, in the
evening, having a minute to spare, he went forth to see for himself.
The shed-door was closed, but not fastened, and Mr. Hillary went in at
once without ceremony. A lighted candle shed its rays around the rude
dwelling-room: and the first thing he saw was a young man, who did not
look in the least like Pike, stretched upon a mattress; the second was a
bushy black wig and appurtenances lying on a chair; and the third was a
formidable-looking pistol, conveniently close to the prostrate invalid.
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