But I'll just thank you
to clear out; and you may please yourself about pottering about all
night."
He made no answer; he was standing by the dressing-table looking across
his candle into the looking-glass; he turned and stared slowly round
the walls.
"Even this room's nothing more than a coffin. I suppose she told
you--'It's all exactly the same as when my brother William died'--trust
her for that! And good luck to him, say I. Look at that." He raised his
candle close to the little water-colour I have mentioned. "There's
hundreds of eyes like that in the house; and even if God does see you,
he takes precious good care you don't see Him. And it's just the same
with them. I tell you what, Withers, I'm getting sick of all this. I
shan't stand it much longer."
The house was silent within and without, and even in the yellowish
radiance of the candle a faint silver showed through the open window on
my blind. I slipped off the bedclothes, wide awake, and sat irresolute
on the bedside.
"I know you're only guying me," I said angrily, "but why is the house
full of--what you say? Why do you hear--what you _do_ hear? Tell me
that, you silly foal!"
Seaton sat down on a chair and rested his candlestick on his knee.
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