Almost reduced to the necessity of groping his way with his hands (it

had grown so dark and the fog had so much increased), he returned to

his lair; and, after musing for some time over the fire, busied himself

in preparations for a speedy departure.

While he was collecting a few necessaries and cramming them into his

pockets, he never once ceased communing with himself in a low voice,

or unclenched his teeth, which he had ground together on finishing

Miss Brass's note.

'Oh Sampson!' he muttered, 'good worthy creature - if I could but hug

you! If I could only fold you in my arms, and squeeze your ribs, as I

COULD squeeze them if I once had you tight - what a meeting there

would be between us! If we ever do cross each other again, Sampson,

we'll have a greeting not easily to be forgotten, trust me. This time,

Sampson, this moment when all had gone on so well, was so nicely

chosen! It was so thoughtful of you, so penitent, so good. oh, if we

were face to face in this room again, my white-livered man of law, how

well contented one of us would be!'

There he stopped; and raising the bowl of punch to his lips, drank a

long deep draught, as if it were fair water and cooling to his parched

mouth. Setting it down abruptly, and resuming his preparations, he

went on with his soliloquy.

'There's Sally,' he said, with flashing eyes; 'the woman has spirit,

determination, purpose - was she asleep, or petrified? She could have

stabbed him - poisoned him safely. She might have seen this coming

on. Why does she give me notice when it's too late? When he sat there,

yonder there, over there, - with his white face, and red head, and

sickly smile, why didn't I know what was passing in his heart? It

should have stopped beating, that night, if I had been in his secret, or

there are no drugs to lull a man to sleep, or no fire to burn him!'

Another draught from the bowl; and, cowering over the fire with a

ferocious aspect, he muttered to himself again.

'And this, like every other trouble and anxiety I have had of late times,

springs from that old dotard and his darling child - two wretched

feeble wanderers! I'll be their evil genius yet. And you, sweet Kit,

honest Kit, virtuous, innocent Kit, look to yourself. Where I hate, I

bite. I hate you, my darling fellow, with good cause, and proud as you

are to-night, I'll have my turn. - What's that?'

A knocking at the gate he had closed. A loud and violent knocking.

Then, a pause; as if those who knocked had stopped to listen. Then,

the noise again, more clamorous and importunate than before. 'So

The Old Curiosity Shop