Roxy Hastings — page 43: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

34 ROXY HASTINGS. Rooke might have spared his pains in relation to the doors, for his young guest had never looked to see whether they could be fastened or not. He had closed them for decency sake, and had rapidly disrobed, and laid his clothes upon a chair near the head of his bed, and being naturally a light sleeper, it was not likely that any one could remove them without awakening him. His room was above the kitchen, and opened into a loft of the woodshed, which adjoined the house on the north. The loft was Phil’s sleeping apartment, where, in silence and darkness, the villain waited, and watched, and lis- tened. Through a crevice in the wooden partition he could see some of the movements of his intended victim before his feeble light was extinguished, and when the young man had retired Phil could even hear his breathing, and could judge of the soundness of the slumber into which he was falling by the length and force of his respiration. Kagerly covetous of the promised plunder, he resolved to take advantage of the first deep sleep of the vouth, and to secure his spoil, if possible, without awakening him, for bad as he was, he preferred not to take life, though he was prepared even for that, if Lee should be unfortunate enough to awake and defend his property. At a little past midnight, when the house was quite still, the relentless robber cautiously and silently opened the door between the rooms, and for many minutes he made no other movement toward the accomplishment of his ob- ject. When convinced that this step had attracted no at- tention he crept in upon his hands and feet, and made his way, not without frequent pauses, to the side of the bed where the slumberer’s garments lay. Nome mesmeric influence must have affected the sleeper at this moment, for there was no appreciable noise. He suddenly started, muttered some indistinct words, and turned over, with his face toward the chair on which his apparel had been thrown. Alas for him, if he awakens now, or if he tries too long the patience of his waiting foe. Clutching with one hand the rope, which, if need be, was to do a noiseless work of strangulation, Phil waited yet many minutes, until the quiet, measured breathing of the dreamer was resumed, and then he resolved to end the suspense. He is beside the chair, he rises on his knees, with face averted from the bed, lest his breath should fan the cheek of the unconscious man, and he turns the garments over Eomicbooks.co