“I wish with all my heart it were burnt!” said mine uncle.

“The will, or the house?” peevishly retorted Gilbert.

“Both!” cried the other, with an emphasis and expression that made me tremble.

“If we burn the house, the papers will not rise out of it, depend on ’t, master,” continued Gilbert; “and that box in the next closet will not prove like Goody Blake’s salamander.”

I began to feel particularly uncomfortable.

“I wish they had all been burnt long ago,” said mine honest uncle.  After a pause he went on:  “This scapegrace nephew of mine will be here shortly.  For fear of accidents—­accidents, I say,—­Gilbert—­it were better to have all safe.  Who knows what may be lurking in the old house, to rise up some day as a witness against us!  I intend either to pull it down or set fire to it.  But we’ll make sure of the will first.”

“A rambling jackanapes of a nephew!” said Gilbert; “I hoped the fishes had supped on him before now.  We never thought, master, he could be alive, as he sent no word about his being either alive or dead.  But I guess,” continued this amiable servant, “he might ha’ staid longer, and you wouldn’t ha’ fretted for his company.”

Listeners hear no good of themselves; but I determined to reward the old villain very shortly for his good wishes.

“Gilbert, when there’s work to do thou art always readier with thy tongue than with thy fingers.  Look! the match has gone out twice,—­leave off puffing and fetch the box; I’ll manage about the candle.”

I began to feel a strange sensation rambling about me.  Gilbert left the room, however, and I applied myself with redoubled diligence to the crevice.  My dishonest relation proceeded to revive the expiring sparks; the light shone full upon his hard features.  It might be fancy, but guilt—­broad, legible, remorseless guilt—­seemed to mark every inflection of his visage:  his brow contracted,—­his eye turned cautiously and fearfully round the apartment, and more than once it rested upon the gap I had made.  I saw him strike his hand upon his puckered brow, and a stifled groan escaped him; but as if ashamed of his better feelings, he clenched it in an attitude of defiance, and listened eagerly for the return of his servant.  The slow footsteps of Gilbert soon announced his approach, and apparently with some heavy burden.  He threw it on the floor, and I heard a key applied and the rusty wards answering to the touch.  The business in which they were now engaged was out of my limited sphere of vision.

“I think, master, the damps will soon ding down the old house:  look at the wall; the paper hangs for all the world like the clerk’s wig—­ha, ha!  If we should burn the house down we’d rid it o’ the ghosts.  Would they stand fire, think you, or be off to cooler quarters?”