Sure enough the brutes were making the best of their way
into the chamber, and every moment I expected they would track their
victim to his hiding-place. After a few moments of inconceivable agony,
I was relieved at finding from their conversation that no notion was
entertained, at present, of any witness to their proceedings.
"I tell thee, Gilbert, these rusty locks can keep nothing safe. It's but
some few months since we were here, and thou knowest the doors were all
fast. The kitchen door-post is now as rotten as touchwood; no bolt will
fasten it."
"Nail it up,--nail 'em all up," growled Gilbert; "nobody'll live here
now; or else set fire to 't. It'll make a rare bonfire to burn that ugly
old will in."
A boisterous laugh here broke from the remorseless Gilbert. It fell upon
my ear as something with which I had once been disagreeably familiar.
The voice of the first speaker, too, seemed the echo of one that had
been heard in childhood. A friendly chink permitted me to gain the
information I sought; there stood my uncle and his trusty familiar. In
my youth I had contracted a somewhat unaccountable aversion to the
latter personage.
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