At the termination of this was a
cross-gallery, one end of which--that to my left--terminated in a great
window, through which the dusky night-view was visible. With the instinct
of terror I chose the darker, and turned again to my right; hurrying
through this long and nearly dark passage, I was terrified by a light,
about thirty feet before me, emerging from the ceiling. In spotted patches
this light fell through the door and sides of a stable lantern, and showed
me a ladder, down which, from an open skylight I suppose for the cool
night-air floated in my face, came Dickon Hawkes notwithstanding his
maimed condition, with so much celerity as to leave me hardly a moment for
consideration.
He sat on the last round of the ladder, and tightened the strap of his
wooden leg.
At my left was a door-case open, but no door. I entered; it was a short
passage about six feet long, leading perhaps to a backstair, but the door
at the end was locked.
I was forced to stand in this recess, then, which afforded no shelter,
while Pegtop stumped by with his lantern in his hand. I fancy he had some
idea of listening to his master unperceived, for he stopped close to my
hiding-place, blew out the candle, and pinched the long snuff with his
horny finger and thumb.
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