I rose and made my way across the little yard to the kitchen door. It was locked and could not be forced. I put my shoulder to the door, with the intention of bursting its hinges, when I spied an irregularity with one of the windows: A pane had been smashed, so that a hand might be inserted and swivel the catch.

Nothing held the bottom sash down. It was the work of a moment to lift it.

Now I was wary, however, having established proof that another had been here before on some similar errand of mischief. I crawled into the kitchen with great trepidation.

The chambers were dark, lit only by that light which might make its way through the slats of the shutters. Alert, I passed through the dining-room to the stairs and proceeded up to the bedchambers, walking carefully with my bare feet lain upon the extreme edges of the steps, so that they might not squeak.

Nothing, curiously, seemed to have been moved from the day when the house had been abandoned. Portraits still hung upon the walls, unmolested by thieves; no vandal had inscribed his name upon the walls; the cushions were pierced by no blade of jealous disdain; and the drawers were sound in their sockets.

I, then, was the first to rifle through Mr. Jonathan Gitney’s possessions. Seizing upon several shirts and pair of breeches, I rolled them quickly into a bundle, to which I added three waistcoats, one of them fine silk for Dr. Trefusis. I found a wig, stockings — though the gentleman of the house had taken the finest, I presume, for the Pox Party — and cravats. I feared that the frock-coats would not fit Dr. Trefusis, but I rolled up two, shaking off the moth-powder. It was the work of but ten minutes; I then retired, scampering upon my bare feet, into the servants’ chambers, where I sought out a suitable frock-coat for myself of some humbler cloth, ratteen or cherriderry. Finding a few articles suitable, the whole mess of apparel I wrapped around two pair of shoes, swaddling it all in the thickest of the coats and tying the arms about the parcel for easy carriage.

My theft complete, I descended the stairs as softly as I might and passed silently through the parlor towards the back of the house and escape.

I had got no further when I heard the scrum of shoes upon the floorboards of the kitchen.

Whoever the mysterious visitant was had smashed the pane to get at the latch — he had returned.

I knew not what to do. I could not move, so clamorous were my senses; I was fixed by panic. All my bravery abandoned me.

I heard the intruder move carefully, quietly across the kitchen floor. The broken glass clicked, ground, and splintered beneath his heel.

Suspended on the rounds of my feet, I glided to the sofa and slid beneath it. I had no opportunity to bring the parcel of clothing with me beneath the seat; for the intruder swung wide the door and entered. His calves were before me; and I waited in excruciation for discovery.

He paused near me; then crossed the room, at which corner I could see him from my hiding place: a youth of my years, perhaps, dressed as might befit an apprentice at some trade. He made his way cautiously through the chamber, then set off through the door to the hall. I heard him make a survey of the house, seeking something, perhaps, which he did not find.

Anxious with the passing minutes, I had almost determined to slide out and make a bid for the exit while he inspected the chambers upstairs; but no sooner had I purposed thus, than I heard him clambering down the steps, and he burst again into the room, giving me but a scant instant to conceal myself.

I lay in my hiding place, praying he might head for the kitchen window and egress.

Then he sat upon a chair.

The disorder of my senses might well be imagined; for long habituation had taught me to fear any infraction in the house of a Gitney; and added to this, there was uncertainty about the motives of this other thief, and whether he carried a dirk.

For some time, we remained like this, he sitting motionless and I Observant now, regarding the burlap weave on the bottom of the sofa, measuring my breath for silence.

He sighed; and there was another fumbling in the kitchen.

This clearly threw him into a state of confusion. His cheek flushed; he half rose; then sat; then rose again, straining to hear this new intruder.

He had no time, however, to effect any concealment — for another crossed the kitchen floor.

The first intruder sat upon his chair, which he clutched on either side. I closed my eyes, for there is some subtle magnetism in the gaze that nudges the lambent spirit in those viewed and draws attention to those who watch concealed.

Tensed for disaster, I heard the second intruder throw wide the door to the back hall. I could not forbear opening my eyes. Another youth stepped into the room. The first swiveled his head to view this new menace. He rose.

They looked upon each other, both reddening.

For a time, they stood in some embarrassment, unspeaking, immobile.

They came together in the center of the room.

Without further word, they clasped each other, their arms thrown around each other, bosom to bosom; they kissed, offering only, after some moments, a few endearments — as, “My darling.” They whispered inquiries as to the other’s safety. “I feared you was caught and dead,” said one. They clasped again, and one of them hissed, “I have so much longed for . . .” He did not complete his sentiment, but grasped his friend’s face and shook it.

I had heard of alliances of this stripe, a gentleman of the College having spent some years in Italy, enjoying the coarse blandishments of stevedores; hiding there, beneath the sofa, I did not condemn, but I wished ardently for the adoring prentices to gratify their Classical lusts above-stairs in the bedroom and quit the parlor, where, if they tarried, I would soon be noticed and undone.

They held each other, standing in the midst of the room. I lay my head upon the floor, praying that the enticements of Eros would prove more involving than the intelligences of the senses, as I was not well concealed, and the bundle rested beside the sofa.

Embracing cheek to cheek, they remained unmoving, clasped; I could hear each inhalation measured in that chamber; and each, I could see, drank in the breath of his friend, so dear in its emission; until one of them began to mock the other, exaggerating his respiration, panting in his ear, and they kicked at each other and laughed.

They wrestled, each plucking at and then casting off the other’s bob-wig, one of which landed near me like some creature of the sea. The youths kissed and rubbed their bald heads together.

“Bedchamber?” said one.

“Oh la, sir,” said the other. “My maiden blushes speak louder than words.”

“Then here,” said the first, “upon the couch?”

He sat in the neighborhood of my head. I closed my eyelids. He drew the other upon his lap, which weight made the sofa creak.

“Right here?” the upper one murmured.

“Aye,” the other assented.

“But,” said the first, “that might startle the Negro boy hiding under the cushions.”

The room was still. In that silence, panic subsiding, the blood returned to its courses, my heart expanded once more to fill its wonted chamber; and I felt nothing but relief at my detection and gratitude for the laxity of their humor.

I spoke to the cushion. “I am beholden to you for your clemency,” said I.

“’Tis nothing, sir,” said one of the boys above me.

“‘Clemency,’ is it?” said the other. “He is exceeding genteel, for a sofa.”

The first explained to me, “I beg pardon, sir. It weren’t our aim to slap the wrist of any pilfering hand.”

“Not for a thousand worlds,” added his accomplice.

Said the first, “A man should never be embarrassed in the midst of pilfering.”

“Almost as galling as being discovered in the midst of an embrace.”

“’Tis, ain’t it? That first embrace of thief and gettings. Delightful.”

“A man trembles. Love at sight. Love at touch.”

“That ain’t our game. Thievery. Only we like a manse with a few fine whim-whams.”

“I want the whims; he wants the whams.” (Then followed scuffling and laughter.)

“Have you sacked the cellars?”

So disordered were my nerves from their romping badinage that I did not mark this question was addressed to me.

“Did the light-fingered gentleman ransack the cellars?” the other repeated. “I’ll reckon they have a tearing fine collection of wines.”

“The steps are by the pantry,” I replied. “You will be pleased to find the wine around the back of the stairway, circling to the left.”

“Many thanks.”

“There is a crate of Malmsey supposed to be particularly fine.”

“Very beholden to you.”

“And the gentlemen may be pleased to enjoy the claret. Its owner spake of it highly.”

“O most excellent sofa,” said one to the cushion. “Most excellent and talkative sofa.”

“I will remove myself immediately, sir,” said I.

“And we will commence our game at tip-cat.”

“Whackets.”

“Hot cockles.”

They rose and left the chamber, making their way to the kitchen. I heard their laughter; they descended into the cellars.

Finally at liberty, I pushed myself out from under the couch, took my bundle, and rose. I passed through to the kitchen; but then arrested my progress toward the window, and stepped quickly into Mr. Jonathan Gitney’s study. I had it in my mind to remove some book with me, which volume might provide entertainment and improvement in my hours waiting upon Dr. Trefusis.

The young Mr. Gitney possessing a not inconsiderable shelf of books, I surveyed their titles for one which might engage me. With all the pleasure of old acquaintance, I seized upon the Æneid, delighted, I having been transported through its channels and rough bays in my childhood; but then I espied several volumes of the philosopher Locke, of whom my tutor had spoke with such approbation, and I lay down Virgil’s epic, and took up those books instead. I weighed each volume in my hand, and wondered at which I should remove with me.

With timidity, I placed the three volumes of Locke upon the heap of clothes, which little library rested there rocking atop the frock-coats and shirts. I considered the Virgil.

Mr. Gitney and his crew had demanded I read, and then had snatched all the books which gratified me from out my hands; I recalled Mr. Sharpe sitting in gloom, preaching of the impracticality of all Dr. Trefusis had taught me; speaking of my failure; admonishing me to succeed, and yet administering only cold fragments; sitting by while I performed and stumbled.

This was their constant study: They had taught me to adore; and then removed the object of that adoration and observed my discomfiture — as were I a beetle of interest, an eel to be stroked, a cur timed for drowning, or lightning itself.

And, this thought acknowledged, I began pulling books off the shelf and hurling them into my pile. I little regarded their titles or authors; it was a phrenzy.

Shakespeare; Congreve; Milton; Pope; the Stoics, the Skeptics, the old tragedians. Their covers slapped in congress on my pile. I was sensible of joy.

I had never known a pleasure equal to this pillage.

If you dare not give me an education, thought I, I shall take it from you.

The books were in a confusion on my bundle, far too many for me to carry. Having mounded them up, I shuffled through them, discarding some upon the floor. The others, I wrapped up in the midst of the garments.

Habit ruleth like a task-master returned from the grave; I could not leave the unneeded volumes in disorder. I stacked them neatly by the desk, lifted my pack, and sought the kitchen once more. Thus my walking library.

I could hear shouts from below, the delights of the grape. Bidding a silent farewell to the magnanimous Sodomists, I crawled out through the open window; opened the garden door; and fled down the alley, with my books and clothing held beneath my arm.

The plunder had been startlingly circumstanced, but its issue had been all I could have hoped. The bundle was large and contained everything that Dr. Trefusis and I would need to establish him as a gentleman and me as his servant.

So proceeded my own rebellion. First escape; then theft. In all things, we become acclimated; this is our strength in wartime, and also our weakness. What is a principle, if it alter with circumstance?

But what is a man, if he cannot change to meet changed times?

And if he can change to meet changed times, is he a man, or several in succession?

Whatever he was, this youth named Augustus, he appeared to be me; and he fled towards Madam Platt’s house, secretly giddy not simply with the practical success of his assay, but with the good fortune of close escape and the petty delight of vengeance lightly taken.