"My beds are engaged," was the curt reply of the surly dame. "Pray how long have you been subject to those fits?" "For several years. Ever since I had the typhus fever. And now the least mental anxiety brings them on." "So it appears. Particularly the sight of an old friend when least expected. This is strange," and she smiled significantly; "for he was, both living and dead, a kind friend to you." "He was indeed," sighed the stranger. "It was not until after I lost him, that I knew how much I was indebted to him." Then suddenly turning from her, he looked stedfastly towards the open door. "It rains cats and dogs, mother; you surely cannot refuse me a bed on such a night?" "I have already told you, I have no bed to spare. To speak the plain truth," added she, with a grim smile, "I don't like your hang-dog face, and want none of your company. If you're afraid of a shadow, you are either a great coward, or a big fool. I despise both characters. If not, you are a designing rogue, and enough of such folks come here every night." "I will pay you well for the accommodation," urged Noah, without noticing or resenting Martha's malignant speech. "Mother, he be as rich as a Jew," whispered Josh, in her ear. The hint, disregarded by Mrs. Mason, was not unheeded by Sophy Grimshawe, who, gliding across the room, said, in a soft, persuasive voice: "Mr. Cotton, if you will step into the next house, I will give you my bed for the night." "The bold hussy!" muttered Martha. "Is it far to go?" and Noah shuddered, as he glanced into the black night. "Only a step; just out of one door into the other. If you be afraid," she continued, looking up into his gloomy but handsome face with an arch smile, "I will protect you. I am afraid of thunder, but not of ghosts. Come along; depend upon it we shall not see anything worse than ourselves." "There's many a true word spoken at random," said Martha, glancing after the twain, as the door closed upon them. "I'll bet all I'm worth in the world that that fellow is not afraid of nothing; he's troubled with a bad conscience. He's a hateful, unlucky-looking fellow! I'm glad that bold girl relieved me of his company." "Martha," said Josh, "you're far wrong this time. Noah Cotton do bear an excellent character; an' then he has lots o' cash." This circumstance, apparently, gave him great importance in the poor man's eyes. "That Squire Carlos, who wor murdered by Bill Martin, left in his will a mort a' money to Noah Cotton. People do say that he wor his son." "A likely story, that!" cried the woman, tossing up her head.