lay there and listened to the wind.

Did she hear it; did it keep her awake? He had an uneasy suspicion that
the shutter that was banging so outrageously was the shutter of her
room. Filled with this miserable thought, he arose softly, stole down
the staircase, and listened. The sound was repeated. It was truly
the refractory shutter of No. 7--the best bedroom adjoining the
sitting-room. The next room, No. 8, was vacant. Jeff entered it softly,
as softly opened the window, and leaning far out in the tempest, essayed
to secure the nocturnal disturber. But in vain. Cord or rope he
had none, nor could he procure either without alarming his aunt--an
extremity not to be considered. Jeff was a man of clumsy but forceful
expedients. He hung far out of the window, and with one powerful hand
lifted the shutter off its hinges and dragged it softly into No. 8. Then
as softly he crept upstairs to bed. The wind howled and tore round the
house; the crazy water-pipe below Jeff's window creaked, the chimneys
whistled, but the shutter banged no more. Jeff began to doze. "It's a
great thing to be strong," the wind seemed to say as it charged upon the
defenseless house, and then another voice seemed to reply, "A greater
thing to be strong and gentle;" and hearing this he fell asleep.


II.


It was not yet daylight when he awoke with an idea that brought him
hurriedly to his feet. Quickly dressing himself, he began to count the
money in his pocket. Apparently the total was not satisfactory, as he
endeavored to augment it by loose coins fished from the pockets of his
other garments, and from the corner of his washstand drawer. Then he