night!' replied Belinda; 'and, if at any period of my life,
I--Hush!' The lady paused and stared with a steady gaze of horror, on
the ashy countenance of Mr. Cymon Tuggs. There was a double knock at the
street-door.

'It is my husband!' said Belinda, as the captain's voice was heard below.

'And my family!' added Cymon Tuggs, as the voices of his relatives
floated up the staircase.

'The curtain! The curtain!' gasped Mrs. Captain Waters, pointing to the
window, before which some chintz hangings were closely drawn.

'But I have done nothing wrong,' said the hesitating Cymon.

'The curtain!' reiterated the frantic lady: 'you will be murdered.' This
last appeal to his feelings was irresistible. The dismayed Cymon
concealed himself behind the curtain with pantomimic suddenness.

Enter the captain, Joseph Tuggs, Mrs. Tuggs, and Charlotta.

'My dear,' said the captain, 'Lieutenant, Slaughter.' Two iron-shod
boots and one gruff voice were heard by Mr. Cymon to advance, and
acknowledge the honour of the introduction. The sabre of the lieutenant
rattled heavily upon the floor, as he seated himself at the table. Mr.
Cymon's fears almost overcame his reason.

'The brandy, my dear!' said the captain. Here was a situation! They
were going to make a night of it! And Mr. Cymon Tuggs was pent up behind
the curtain and afraid to breathe!

'Slaughter,' said the captain, 'a cigar?'

Now, Mr. Cymon Tuggs never could smoke without feeling it indispensably
necessary to retire, immediately, and never could smell smoke without a
strong disposition to cough. The cigars were introduced; the captain was
a professed smoker; so was the lieutenant; so was Joseph Tuggs. The
apartment was small, the door was closed, the smoke powerful: it hung in
heavy wreaths over the room, and at length found its way behind the
curtain. Cymon Tuggs held his nose, his mouth, his breath. It was all
of no use--out came the cough.

'Bless my soul!' said the captain, 'I beg your pardon, Miss Tuggs. You
dislike smoking?'

'Oh, no; I don't indeed,' said Charlotta.

'It makes you cough.'

'Oh dear no.'

'You coughed just now.'

'Me, Captain Waters! Lor! how can you say so?'

'Somebody coughed,' said the captain.

'I certainly thought so,' said Slaughter. No; everybody denied it.

'Fancy,' said the captain.

'Must be,' echoed Slaughter.

Cigars resumed--more smoke--another cough--smothered, but violent.

'Damned odd!' said the ca