night, Death and he had not once met, even in thought.

He took a few turns up and down the room, then stopped. The noise
made by his boots on the poorly-carpeted floor jarred on his ear.
He hesitated a little, and ended by taking the boots off, and
walking backward and forward noiselessly.

All desire to sleep or to rest had left him. The bare thought of
lying down on the unoccupied bed instantly drew the picture on
his mind of a dreadful mimicry of the position of the dead man.
Who was he? What was the story of his past life? Poor he must
have been, or he would not have stopped at such a place as the
Two Robins Inn; and weakened, probably, by long illness, or he
could hardly have died in the manner which the landlord had
described. Poor, ill, lonely--dead in a strange place--dead, with
nobody but a stranger to pity him. A sad story; truly, on the
mere face of it, a very sad story.

While these thoughts were passing through his mind, he had
stopped insensibly at the window, close to which stood the foot
of the bed with the closed curtains. At first he looked at it
absently; then he became conscious that his eyes were fixed on
it; and then a perverse desire took possession of him to do the
very thing which he had resolved not to do up to this time--to
look at the dead man.

He stretched out his hand toward the curtains, but checked
himself in the very act of undrawing them, turned his back
sharply on the bed, and walked toward the chimney-piece, to see
what things were placed on it, and to try if he could keep the