Then the silence followed again, and was
disturbed no more.
He was alone now--absolutely, hopelessly alone with the dead man
till the next morning.
The wick of the candle wanted trimming again. He took up the
snuffers, but paused suddenly on the very point of using them,
and looked attentively at the candle--then back, over his
shoulder, at the curtained bed--then again at the candle. It had
been lighted for the first time to show him the way upstairs, and
three parts of it, at least, were already consumed. In another
hour it would be burned out. In another hour, unless he called at
once to the man who had shut up the inn for a fresh candle, he
would be left in the dark.
Strongly as his mind had been affected since he had entered the
room, his unreasonable dread of encountering ridicule and of
exposing his courage to suspicion had not
altogether lost its influence over him even yet.
He lingered irresolutely by the table, waiting till he could
prevail on himself to open the door, and call from the landing,
to the man who had shut up the inn. In his present hesitating
frame of mind, it was a kind of relief to gain a few moments only
by engaging in the trifling occupation of snuffing the candle.
His hand trembled a little, and the snuffers were heavy and
awkward to use.
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