Chapter 3

           Presentlytherecameagreatrattlingofchainsandbolts,andthedoorwascautiouslyopenedandshuttoagainbehindmeassoonasIhadpassed.

           “Gointothekitchenandtouchnaething,”saidthevoice;andwhilethepersonofthehousesethimselftoreplacingthedefencesofthedoor,Igropedmywayforwardandenteredthekitchen.

           Thefirehadburnedupfairlybright,andshowedmethebarestroomIthinkIeverputmyeyeson.Half-a-dozendishesstoodupontheshelves;thetablewaslaidforsupperwithabowlofporridge,ahornspoon,andacupofsmallbeer.BesideswhatIhavenamed,therewasnotanotherthinginthatgreat,stone-vaulted,emptychamberbutlockfastchestsarrangedalongthewallandacornercupboardwithapadlock.

           Assoonasthelastchainwasup,themanrejoinedme.Hewasamean,stooping,narrow-shouldered,clay-facedcreature;andhisagemighthavebeenanythingbetweenfiftyandseventy.Hisnightcapwasofflannel,andsowasthenightgownthathewore,insteadofcoatandwaistcoat,overhisraggedshirt.Hewaslongunshaved;butwhatmostdistressedandevendauntedme,hewouldneithertakehiseyesawayfrommenorlookmefairlyintheface.Whathewas,whetherbytradeorbirth,wasmorethanIcouldfathom;butheseemedmostlikeanold,unprofitableserving-man,whoshouldhavebeenleftinchargeofthatbighouseuponboardwages.

           “Areyesharp-set?”heasked,glancingataboutthelevelofmyknee.“Yecaneatthatdropparritch?”

           IsaidIfeareditwashisownsupper.