'Do not ask me,' continued Mr Haredale, 'to explain myself. If I were to
do so, you would think me the victim of some hideous fancy. It is enough
that this is so, and that I cannot--no, I can not--lie quietly in my
bed, without doing what will seem to you incomprehensible.'
'Since when, sir,' said the locksmith after a pause, 'has this uneasy
feeling been upon you?'
Mr Haredale hesitated for some moments, and then replied: 'Since the
night of the storm. In short, since the last nineteenth of March.'
As though he feared that Varden might express surprise, or reason with
him, he hastily went on:
'You will think, I know, I labour under some delusion. Perhaps I do. But
it is not a morbid one; it is a wholesome action of the mind, reasoning
on actual occurrences. You know the furniture remains in Mrs Rudge's
house, and that it has been shut up, by my orders, since she went away,
save once a-week or so, when an old neighbour visits it to scare away
the rats. I am on my way there now.'
'For what purpose?' asked the locksmith.
'To pass the night there,' he replied; 'and not to-night alone, but many
nights. This is a secret which I trust to you in case of any unexpected
emergency.
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