He sat trying to read, with his ears alert for the slightest sound.
Brother Burge seemed to be a long time undressing. For half an hour
after he had retired he could hear him moving restlessly about his room.

Twelve o'clock struck from the tower of the parish church, and was
followed almost directly by the tall clock standing in the hall
down-stairs. Scarcely had the sounds died away than a low moaning from
the next room caused the affrighted jeweller to start from his chair and
place his ear against the wall. Two or three hollow groans came through
the plaster, followed by ejaculations which showed clearly that Brother
Burge was at that moment engaged in a terrified combat with the Powers
of Darkness to decide whether he should, or should not, rifle his host's
shop. His hands clenched and his ear pressed close to the wall, the
jeweller listened to a monologue which increased in interest with every
word.

"I tell you I won't," said the voice in the next room with a groan, "I
won't. Get thee behind me--Get thee--No, and don't shove me over to the
door; if you can't get behind me without doing that, stay where you are.
Yes, I know it's a fortune as well as what you do; but it ain't mine."

The listener caught his breath painfully.

"Diamond rings," continued Brother Burge in a suffocating voice. "Stop
it, I tell you. No, I won't just go and look at 'em."

A series of groans which the jeweller noticed to his horror got weaker
and weaker testified to the greatness of the temptation. He heard
Brother Burge rise, and then a succession of panting snarls seemed to
indicate a fierce bodily encounter.