She turned over and pretended to go to sleep agin, and arter a minute or two Silas spoke agin in the same hollow voice.

“Bill!” he ses.

“Yes,” ses Bill, with a groan of his own.

“She can’t see me,” ses Silas, “and she can’t ’ear me; but I’m ’ere all right.  Look!”

“I ’ave looked,” ses Bill, with his ’ead still under the clothes.

“We was always pals, Bill, you and me,” ses Silas; “many a v’y’ge ’ave we had together, mate, and now I’m a-laying at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean, and you are snug and ’appy in your own warm bed.  I ’ad to come to see you, according to promise, and over and above that, since I was drowned my eyes ’ave been opened.  Bill, you’re drinking yourself to death!”

“I—­I—­didn’t know it,” ses Bill, shaking all over.  “I’ll knock it—­off a bit, and—­thank you—­for—­w-w-warning me.  G-G-Good-by.”

“You’ll knock it off altogether,” ses Silas Winch, in a awful voice.  “You’re not to touch another drop of beer, wine, or spirits as long as you live.  D’ye hear me?”

“Not—­not as medicine?” ses Bill, holding the clothes up a bit so as to be more distinct.

“Not as anything,” ses Silas; “not even over Christmas pudding.  Raise your right arm above your ’ead and swear by the ghost of pore Silas Winch, as is laying at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean, that you won’t touch another drop.”

Bill Burtenshaw put ’is arm up and swore it.

Then ’e took ’is arm in agin and lay there wondering wot was going to ’appen next.

“If you ever break your oath by on’y so much as a teaspoonful,” ses Silas, “you’ll see me agin, and the second time you see me you’ll die as if struck by lightning.  No man can see me twice and live.”

Bill broke out in a cold perspiration all over.  “You’ll be careful, won’t you, Silas?” he ses.  “You’ll remember you ’ave seen me once, I mean?”

“And there’s another thing afore I go,” ses Silas.  “I’ve left a widder, and if she don’t get ’elp from some one she’ll starve.”

“Pore thing,” ses Bill.  “Pore thing.”

“If you ’ad died afore me,” ses Silas, “I should ’ave looked arter your good wife—­wot I’ve now put in a sound sleep—­as long as I lived.”

Bill didn’t say anything.

“I should ’ave given ’er fifteen shillings a week,” ses Silas.

“’Ow much?” ses Bill, nearly putting his ’ead up over the clothes, while ’is wife almost woke up with surprise and anger.

“Fifteen shillings,” ses Silas, in ’is most awful voice.  “You’ll save that over the drink.”

“I—­I’ll go round and see her,” ses Bill.  “S’he might be one o’ these ’ere independent—­” 277

“I forbid you to go near the place,” ses Silas.  “Send it by post every week; 15 Shap Street will find her.  Put your arm up and swear it; same as you did afore.”

Bill did as ’e was told, and then ’e lay and trembled, as Silas gave three more awful groans.