r was shut behind her!

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

DIOGENES AT HOME.

"This way, please, ma'am. Will you come up-stairs?" said the butler;
and Nan stumbled blindly forward, past the branching palms, the Indian
cabinets, the knight in his glittering armour, past a hundred treasures,
with never an eye to notice one of them, and a heart beating fast with
agitation. The ascent seemed to last for a year, yet it would be over
far too soon; the dreaded moment of introduction would arrive, and, in
the name of all that was horrifying and perplexing, what should she do
then? By what name should she be announced? What should she state as
the object of her visit? What excuse could she offer for her intrusion?

"If I ever get out of this alive, I'll first pay out Miss Chrissie, and
then turn over a new leaf for life! No more practical jokes for me!"
said Nan to herself, and pulled her bonnet resolutely over her face.
The butler had paused, and was looking at her inquiringly as he threw
open the door of his master's room, and waited to announce her name.
She croaked at him,--there is no other word to describe the inarticulate
sound which issued from her lips,--then swept forward, and the man
retired, no doubt thinking the stranger's manner on a par with her
appearance.

Left to herself, Nan took a few steps forward and stopped abruptly,
finding herself in a room which was at once the most beautiful and the
most extraordinary which she had ever beheld. In every direction in
which she turned her eyes, they were greeted by some quaint treasure,
which had been brought from the ends of the earth to be stored against a
background of tapestry and carved oak panel. It was like stepping back
hundreds of years, and finding one's self in an old baronial castle; and
the occupant of the room was in keeping with his surroundings. He lay
on his couch, staring at her with sunken eyes, a picturesque-looking old
man, with a complexion of bleached transparency; a white head, covered
by a velvet skull-cap, and a wasted form, wrapped in a dressing--gown of
embroidered Oriental silk. He looked both sad and suffering, and Nan
recognised as much with a pang of regret for all the hard terms she had
lavished upon his want of hospitality. Yes, indeed! he looked too ill
to receive visitors; too weary to be troubled with the commonplaces.
What could she say to explain her own visit? What in the world should
she find to talk about?

"Won't you sit d