ROBBERY.
Hush--hush--hush!
Stealthily on tiptoe, with finger on his lips, that fore-doomed man
crept out.
"The key is in the cupboard still--ha! how lucky: saves time that, and
trouble, and--and--risk! Oh, no--there can be no risk now," and the
wretch added, "thank God!"
The devil loves such piety as this.
So Simon quietly turned the key, and set the cupboard open: it was to
him a Bluebeard's chamber, a cave of the Forty Thieves, a garden of the
Genius in Aladdin, a mysterious secret treasure-house of wealth
uncounted and unseen.
What a galaxy of pickle-pots! tier behind tier of undoubted
currant-jelly, ranged like the houses in Algiers! vasty jars of
gooseberry! delicate little cupping-glasses full of syruped fruits! Yet
all these candied joys, which probably enhance a Mrs. Rundle's heaven,
were as nothing in the eyes of Simon--sweet trash, for all he cared
they might be vulgar treacle. His ken saw nothing but the
honey-pots--embarrassing array--a round dozen of them! All alike, all
posted in a brown line, like stout Dutch sentinels with their hands in
their breeches pockets, and set aloft on that same high-reached shelf.
Must he really take them all? impracticable: a positive sack full.
What's to be done?--which is he to leave behind? that old witch
contrived this identity and multitude for safety's sake. But what if he
left the wrong one, and got clear off with the valuable booty of two
dozen pounds of honey? Confusion! that'll never do: he must take them
all, or none; all, all's the word; and forthwith, as tenderly as
possible, the puzzled thief took down eleven pots of honey to his one of
gold--all pig-bladdered, all Fortnumed--all slimy at the string;
"Confound that cunning old aunt of mine," said Simon, aloud; and took no
notice that the snores surceased.
Then did he spread upon the table a certain shawl, and set the crocks in
order on it: and it was quite impossible to leave behind that pretty
ostentatious "Savings' Bank," which the shrewd hoarder kept as a feint
to lure thieves from her hidden gold, by an open exhibition of her
silver: unluckily, though, the shillings, not being leathered up nor
branned, rattled like a Mandarin toy, as the trembling hand of Jennings
deposited the bank beside the crockeries--and, at the well-known sound,
I observed (though Simon did not, as he was in a trance of addled
triumph) or fancied I observed Mrs. Quarles's head move: but as she said
nothing, perhaps I was mistaken. Thus stood Simon at the table,
surveying his extraordinary spoils.
And while he looked, the Mercy of God, which never yet hath seen the
soul too guilty for salvation, spake to him kindly, and whispered in his
ear, "Poor, deluded man--there is yet a moment for escape--flee from
this temptation--put all back again--hasten to thy room, to thy prayers,
repent, repent: even thou shalt be forgiven, and none but God, who will
forgive thee, shall know of this bad crime. Turn now from all thy sins;
the gate of bliss is open, if thou wilt but lift the latch."
It was one moment of irresolute delay; on that hinge hung Eternity. The
gate swung upon its pivot, that should shut out hell, or heaven!
Simon knit his brow--bit his nails--and answered quite out loud, "What!
and after all to lose the crock of gold?"