You'll not ring twice,' returned the child. 'The bell wakes me, even in

the middle of a dream.'

With this, they separated. The child opened the door (now guarded by

a shutter which I had heard the boy put up before he left the house)

and with another farewell whose clear and tender note I have recalled

a thousand times, held it until we had passed out. The old man

paused a moment while it was gently closed and fastened on the

inside, and satisfied that this was done, walked on at a slow pace. At

the street-corner he stopped, and regarding me with a troubled

countenance said that our ways were widely different and that he

must take his leave. I would have spoken, but summoning up more

alacrity than might have been expected in one of his appearance, he

hurried away. I could see that twice or thrice he looked back as if to

ascertain if I were still watching him, or perhaps to assure himself

that I was not following at a distance. The obscurity of the night

favoured his disappearance, and his figure was soon beyond my sight.

I remained standing on the spot where he had left me, unwilling to

depart, and yet unknowing why I should loiter there. I looked wistfully

into the street we had lately quitted, and after a time directed my

steps that way. I passed and repassed the house, and stopped and

listened at the door; all was dark, and silent as the grave.

Yet I lingered about, and could not tear myself away, thinking of all

possible harm that might happen to the child - of fires and robberies

and even murder - and feeling as if some evil must ensure if I turned

my back upon the place. The closing of a door or window in the street

brought me before the curiosity-dealer's once more; I crossed the road

and looked up at the house to assure myself that the noise had not

come from there. No, it was black, cold, and lifeless as before.

There were few passengers astir; the street was sad and dismal, and

pretty well my own. A few stragglers from the theatres hurried by, and

now and then I turned aside to avoid some noisy drunkard as he

reeled homewards, but these interruptions were not frequent and soon

ceased. The clocks struck one. Still I paced up and down, promising

myself that every time should be the last, and breaking faith with

myself on some new plea as often as I did so.

The more I thought of what the old man had said, and of his looks and

bearing, the less I could account for what I had seen and heard. I had

a strong misgiving that his nightly absence was for no good purpose. I

had only come to know the fact through the innocence of the child,

and though the old man was by at the time, and saw my undisguised

surprise, he had preserved a strange mystery upon the subject and

offered no word of explanation. These reflections naturally recalled

again more strongly than before his haggard face, his wandering

The Old Curiosity Shop