The Lodger

ife sat before their dully bur

particularly one of a Superior class to their own, on suddenly opening the door of that sitting-room; would have thought that Mr. and Mrs. Bunting presented a very pleasant cosy picture of comforta

less apparent; but they were there all the same-in her neat black stuff dress, and in her scrupulously

in a very nice room and in their time-how long ago it now seemed!-both husband and wife had been proud of their carefully chosen belongings. Eve

the floor; as, again, the arm-chair in which Bunting now sat forward, staring into the dull, small fire. In fact, that arm-chair had been an extravagance of Mrs. Bunting. She had wanted her husband to be comfortable after the day's work was done, and she had paid thirty-sev

s of the sitting-room, hung neatly framed if now rather faded photographs-photographs of Mr. and Mrs. Bunting's various former employer

l into trouble try to dispose of-they were almost at the end of their tether. Already they had learnt to go hungry, and they were beginning to learn to go cold. Tobacco, the last thing the sober man foregoes among his comforts, had been given up so

ought and love for him. Painful tears had forced themselves into his eyes, and

e now very near the soundless depths which divide those who dwell on the safe tableland of security-those, that is, who are sure of making a respectable, if not a happy, living-and the submerged mul

o so many of us as the poor, there would have been friendly neighbours ready to help them, and the same would have been the case

e widow of a man who had been well-to-do, lived Daisy, Bunting's only child by his first wife, and during the last long two days he had been try

came to see them in their deep trouble. This was a young fellow named Chandler, under whose grandfather Bunting had been footman years and years ago.

me often, for his tales were well worth listening to-quite exciting at times. But now poor Bunting didn't want to hear that sort of stories-

uaintance a loan, and Bunting, at last, had taken 30s. Very little of that money now remained: Bunting still could jingle a few coppers in his pocket; and Mrs. Bunting had 2s. 9d.; that and the rent they would have to pay in five weeks, was all th

f the old-fashioned gold watch-chain which had been given to him after the death of his first master, a master he had nursed faithfully and kind

hey are apt, however loquacious by nature, to fall into long silences. Bunting had always been a talker, but now he talked no more. Neither did Mrs. Bunting

xpression, he had discovered Ellen Green, carefully pouring out the glass of port wine which her then mistress always drank at 11.30 every morning. And as he, the new butler, ha

various little shops, close by, patronised by him in more prosperous days, and Mrs. Bunting also went afield to make the

me the muffled sounds of hurrying feet and of loud, shrill shouting

been, after his tobacco, his bitterest deprivation. And the paper was an

s and the thick damask curtains, Bunting fel

aring news of what is going on beyond their prison walls. And those shouts, those hoarse, sharp cries must portend that somet

rs to listen. There fell on them, emerging now and again from t

ancras!" Bunting remembered vaguely another murder which had been committed near St. Pancras-that of an old lady by her servant-maid. It had h

now they had adopted another cry, but he could not quite catch what they were crying. They were still shouting hoarsely, excit

and brutal murders had been committed in L

second had only been awarded, in the paper Buntin

the dress of the victim-a drunken woman-had been found a three-cornered piece o

AVE

interest in such sinister mysteries, that the same miscreant had committed all three crimes; and before that extraordinary fact had had time to soak well into the public

ven the man who left their ha'porth of milk at the door e

**

t. Then, seeing her pale, apathetic face, her look of weary, mournful absorpt

d that morning, and told her what the milkman had said. In fact, she had been quit

e shrank from stories of immorality or of physical violence. In the old, happy days, when they could afford to buy a paper, aye, and more than one paper daily, Bunting had o

too dull and too misera

e he turned half round, and there came over his close-shaven, round face the rather sly

ders just showed above the back of the chair on which she was

went out into the dark hall-they had given up lighting

o the damp pavement. But there he hesitated. The coppers in his pocket seemed to have sh

papers, and Bunting, being sorely tempted-fell.

eath, shook his head. "Only penny papers

ting drew a penny out of his pocket and took a pape

ck through the raw, cold air, up the flagged path

ut of his anxious, despondent, miserable self. It irritated him shrewdly to know that these moments

cold, so foggy, so-so drizzly, he would have gone out again through the gate and stood under the street lamp to take his pleasure. He dreaded with a nervous dread

on earth are you doing out there, Bunting? Come in-do! You'll catch your death of cold! I don't want to hav

of his cheerless house. "I went ou

re now both living had been lent, nay, pressed on him-not on Ellen-by that decent young chap, Joe Chandler. And he, Bunting, ha

ll of rage with her and contempt for himself, and giving himself the luxury of a mild, a very mild, oath-E

ers if they can't even see t

oblong card, though not the word "Apartments" printed on it, could be plai

little banked-up fire. It was the first time Bunting had poked the fire for many a long day, and this exertion of marital au

he was not used to be flouted in this way. For Buntin

off an imperceptible touch of dust here,

ny? It was dreadful-dreadful to have to worry about a penny! But they had come to the p

ting, but he was fond of peace, and perhaps, by now, a little bit ashamed of himself, s

ong to get away from him. Opening the door which separated the sitting-room from the bedroom behind, and -shutting out the aggravating vision of Bunting sitting comfo

ding poverty and wretchedness? She and Bunting were just past the age which gentlefolk think proper in a married couple seeking to enter service together, unless, that is, the wife happens to be a

of taking lodgers! For it had been her doin

e an epidemic of scarlet fever, and that had meant ruin for them, and for dozens, nay, hundreds, of other luckless people. Then had followed a business experime

or separately, they had made up their minds to make one last effort, and they had taken over,

n who deliberately take upon themselves the yoke of domestic service, they had both lived in houses overlooking Regent's Park. It had seemed a wise plan to settle in the same ne

Two of his former masters had moved to another part of London,

ife's permission to do this, as so good a husband ought to have done. He had just gone out and done it. And she had not had the heart to say any

nful thoughts, there suddenly came to the front door t