And at a table sat the old man
himself--the only living creature there--his white face pinched and
sharpened by the greediness which made his eyes unnaturally
bright--counting the money of which his hands had robbed her.
With steps more unsteady than those with which she had approached the
room, the child groped her way back into her own chamber. The terror
which she had lately felt was nothing compared with that which now
oppressed her. The grey-haired old man, gliding like a ghost into her
room, and acting the thief, while he supposed her fast asleep, then
bearing off his prize, and hanging over it with the ghastly exultation
she had witnessed, was far more dreadful than anything her wildest fancy
could have suggested. The feeling which beset her was one of uncertain
horror. She had no fear of the dear old grandfather, but the man she had
seen that night seemed like another creature in his shape. She could
scarcely connect her own affectionate companion, save by his loss, with
this old man, so like yet so unlike him. She had wept to see him dull
and quiet. How much greater cause she had for weeping now!
She sat thinking of these things, until she felt it would be a relief to
hear his voice, or if he were asleep, even to see him, and so she stole
down the passage again. Looking into the room, she saw him lying calmly
on his bed, fast asleep. She had no fear as she looked upon his
slumbering features, but she had a deep and weighty sorrow, and it found
its relief in tears.
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