Twelve o’clock struck from the tower of the parish church, and was followed almost directly by the tall clock standing in the hall down-stairs.  Scarcely had the sounds died away than a low moaning from the next room caused the affrighted jeweller to start from his chair and place his ear against the wall.  Two or three hollow groans came through the plaster, followed by ejaculations which showed clearly that Brother Burge was at that moment engaged in a terrified combat with the Powers of Darkness to decide whether he should, or should not, rifle his host’s shop.  His hands clenched and his ear pressed close to the wall, the jeweller listened to a monologue which increased in interest with every word.

“I tell you I won’t,” said the voice in the next room with a groan, “I won’t.  Get thee behind me—­Get thee—­No, and don’t shove me over to the door; if you can’t get behind me without doing that, stay where you are.  Yes, I know it’s a fortune as well as what you do; but it ain’t mine.”

The listener caught his breath painfully.

“Diamond rings,” continued Brother Burge in a suffocating voice.  “Stop it, I tell you.  No, I won’t just go and look at ’em.”

A series of groans which the jeweller noticed to his horror got weaker and weaker testified to the greatness of the temptation.  He heard Brother Burge rise, and then a succession of panting snarls seemed to indicate a fierce bodily encounter.

“I don’t—­want to look at ’em,” said Brother Burge in an exhausted voice.  “What’s—­the good of—­looking at ’em?  It’s like you, you know diamonds are my weakness.  What does it matter if he is asleep?  What’s my knife got to do with you?”

Brother Higgs reeled back and a mist passed before his eyes.  He came to himself at the sound of a door opening, and impelled with a vague idea of defending his property, snatched up his candle and looked out on to the landing.

The light fell on Brother Burge, fully dressed and holding his boots in his hand.  For a moment they gazed at each other in silence; then the jeweller found his voice.

“I thought you were ill, Brother,” he faltered.

An ugly scowl lit up the other’s features.  “Don’t you tell me any of your lies,” he said fiercely.  “You’re watching me; that’s what you’re doing.  Spying on me.”

“I thought that you were being tempted,” confessed the trembling Mr. Higgs.

An expression of satisfaction which he strove to suppress appeared on Mr. Burge’s face.

“So I was,” he said sternly.  “So I was; but that’s my business.  I don’t want your assistance; I can fight my own battles.  You go to bed—­I’m going to tell the congregation I won the fight single-’anded.”

“So you have, Brother,” said the other eagerly; “but it’s doing me good to see it.  It’s a lesson to me; a lesson to all of us the way you wrestled.”

“I thought you was asleep,” growled Brother Burge, turning back to his room and speaking over his shoulder.  “You get back to bed; the fight ain’t half over yet.  Get back to bed and keep quiet.”