Meanwhile I was taken up with Pen.The pretty fool was seated on a chair, all dressed up in her Sunday finery, and rocking backward and forward, crying, ``Oh, oh, ah!'' like a lamb saying, ``Baa, baa, baa!'' She never had much sense.I had to shake her to get a reasonable word.She mopped her eyes, and I heard her gasp out that my aunt had at last decided that I was the person who had thinned her hoards.This was bad, but involved less inconvenience than it might have done an hour earlier.Amid tears Pen told me that a detective had been at the house inquiring for me.When this happened it seems that the poor little goose had tried to fool deaf Aunt Rachel with some made-up story as to the man having come about taxes.I suppose the girl was not any too sharp, and the old woman, Iguess, read enough from merely seeing the man's lips.You never could keep anything from her, and she was both curious and suspicious.She assured the officer that I was a thief, and hoped I might be caught.I could not learn whether the man told Pen any particulars, but as I was slowly getting at the facts we heard a loud scream and a heavy fall.
Pen said, ``Oh, oh!'' and we hurried up-
stairs.There was the old woman on the floor, her face twitching to right, and her breathing a sort of hoarse croak.The big Bible lay open on the floor, and I knew what had happened.It was a fit of apoplexy.
At this very unpleasant sight Pen seemed to recover her wits, and said: ``Go away, go away! Oh, brother, brother, now I know you have stolen her money and killed her, and--and I loved you, I was so proud of you! Oh, oh!''
This was all very fine, but the advice was good.I said: ``Yes, I had better go.Run and get some one--a doctor.It is a fit of hysterics; there is no danger.I will write to you.You are quite mistaken.''
This was too feeble even for Pen, and she cried:
``No, never; I never want to see you again.
You would kill me next.''
``Stuff!'' said I, and ran down-stairs.Iseized my coat and hat, and went to the tavern, where I got a man to drive me to Camden.I have never seen Pen since.As I crossed the ferry to Philadelphia I saw that I should have asked when the detective had been after me.I suspected from Pen's terror that it had been recently.
It was Sunday and, as I reminded myself, the day before Christmas.The ground was covered with snow, and as I walked up Market street my feet were soon soaked.In my haste I had left my overshoes.I was very cold, and, as I now see, foolishly fearful.Ikept thinking of what a conspicuous thing a fire-red head is, and of how many people knew me.As I reached Woodbury early and without a cent, I had eaten nothing all day.I relied on Pen.
Now I concluded to go down into my old neighborhood and get a lodging where no references were asked.Next day I would secure a disguise and get out of the way.Ihad passed the day without food, as I have just said, and having ample means, concluded to go somewhere and get a good dinner.It was now close to three in the afternoon.Iwas aware of two things: that I was making many plans, and giving them up as soon as made; and that I was suddenly afraid without cause, afraid to enter an eating-house, and in fear of every man I met.
I went on, feeling more and more chilly.
When a man is really cold his mind does not work well, and now it was blowing a keen gale from the north.At Second and South I came plump on a policeman I knew.He looked at me through the drifting snow, as if he was uncertain, and twice looked back after having passed me.I turned west at Christian street.When I looked behind me the man was standing at the corner, staring after me.At the next turn I hurried away northward in a sort of anguish of terror.I have said I was an uncommon person.I am.Iam sensitive, too.My mind is much above the average, but unless I am warm and well fed it does not act well, and I make mistakes.
At that time I was half frozen, in need of food, and absurdly scared.Then that old fool squirming on the floor got on to my nerves.
I went on and on, and at last into Second street, until I came to Christ Church, of all places for me.I heard the sound of the organ in the afternoon service.I felt I must go in and get warm.Here was another silly notion: I was afraid of hotels, but not of the church.I reasoned vaguely that it was a dark day, and darker in the church, and so Iwent in at the Church Alley entrance and sat near the north door.No one noticed me.Isat still in a high-backed pew, well hid, and wondering what was the matter with me.It was curious that a doctor, and a man of my intelligence, should have been long in guessing a thing so simple.
For two months I had been drinking hard, and for two days had quit, being a man capable of great self-control, and also being short of money.Just before the benediction I saw a man near by who seemed to stare at me.In deadly fear I got up and quickly slipped through a door into the tower room.
I said to myself, ``He will follow me or wait outside.'' I stood a moment with my head all of a whirl, and then in a shiver of fear ran up the stairs to the tower until I got into the bell-ringer's room.I was safe.Isat down on a stool, twitching and tremulous.
There were the old books on bell-ringing, and the miniature chime of small bells for instruction.The wind had easy entrance, and it swung the eight ropes about in a way I did not like.I remember saying, ``Oh, don't do that.'' At last I had a mad desire to ring one of the bells.As a loop of rope swung toward me it seemed to hold a face, and this face cried out, ``Come and hang yourself;then the bell will ring.''
