windows, which were very high up and narrow, and well barred, the

changing light of a little fire began to glimmer. Was this the palace

I had been coming to? Was it within these walls that I was to seek

new friends and begin great fortunes? Why, in my father's house on

Essen-Waterside, the fire and the bright lights would show a mile away,

and the door open to a beggar's knock!

I came forward cautiously, and giving ear as I came, heard some one

rattling with dishes, and a little dry, eager cough that came in fits;

but there was no sound of speech, and not a dog barked.

The door, as well as I could see it in the dim light, was a great piece

of wood all studded with nails; and I lifted my hand with a faint heart

under my jacket, and knocked once. Then I stood and waited. The house

had fallen into a dead silence; a whole minute passed away, and nothing

stirred but the bats overhead. I knocked again, and hearkened again.

By this time my ears had grown so accustomed to the quiet, that I

could hear the ticking of the clock inside as it slowly counted out the

seconds; but whoever was in that house kept deadly still, and must have

held his breath.

I was in two minds whether to run away; but anger got the upper hand,

and I began instead to rain kicks and buffets on the door, and to shout

out aloud for Mr. Balfour. I was in full career, when I heard the cough

right overhead, and jumping back and looking up, beheld a man's head

in a tall nightcap, and the bell mouth of a blunderbuss, at one of the

first-storey windows.

"It's loaded," said a voice.

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