Gideon Rolfe crossed the room, and holding the candle above his head, looked down at the sleeper.
"Yes," he muttered, "it's the same face--they are alike! Faces of angels and the hearts of devils. What fate has sent him here to-night?"
Though Jack Newcombe was by no means one of those impossible, perfect heroes whom we have sometimes met in history, and was, alas! as full of imperfections as a sieve is of holes, he was a gentleman, and for a savage, was possessed of a considerable amount of delicacy.
"Seems to me," he mused, "that the best thing I can do is to take my objectionable self out of the way before any of the good folks put in an appearance. The old fellow will be sure to order me off the premises directly after the breakfast; and I, in common gratitude, ought to save him the trouble."
To resolve and to act were one and the same thing with Jack Newcombe. Going into the adjoining room, he got out of the woodman's and into his own clothes, and carefully restored the skins and the cloak to the cupboard. Then he put the remainder of the loaf into his pocket, to serve as breakfast later on, then paused.
"Can't go without saying good-by, and much obliged," he muttered.
A bright idea struck him; he tore the blank leaf from an old letter which he happened to have with him, and after a few minutes' consideration--for epistolary composition was one of the Savage's weakest points--scribbled the following brief thanks, apology, and farewell:
"Very much obliged for your kindness, and sorry to have been such a bore; shouldn't have intruded if I'd known ladies were present. Will you oblige me by accepting the inclosed"--he hesitated a moment, put back the sovereign which he had taken from his pocket, and filled up the line--"for your wife."
Instead of the coin, he wrapped up a ring, which he took from his little finger.
He smiled, as he wrapped it up, for he remembered that the wife had particularly large hands; and he thought, cunningly, "_she_ will get it."
Having placed this packet on the top of the cheese, he took a last look round the room, glanced toward the stairs rather wistfully--it was neither the woodman nor his wife that he longed to see--gently unbarred the door, and started on his road.