qu'un Anglais de moins._'"

This is the carelessness with which men talk and think of human life;
and here was my cousin about to go through the fearful ordeal, perhaps
to be shot dead, like poor Charles Horsingham. The more I thought of
it, the more resolutely I determined to prevent it. I had never taken
off my dinner-dress--my candles were nearly burned down--the clock
struck five--in two hours it would be daylight. There was not a moment
to lose. All at once a bright thought struck me. I would rouse good
old Mr. Lumley. He was clever, sensible, and respected; he was
likewise a man of honour and a gentleman. With all his infirmities, I
had seen him show energy enough when he could do any good. I would go
to him at once; and I left my room with the resolution that I, for
one, would move heaven and earth ere a hair of Cousin John's precious
head should be imperilled on my account.

I lit my candle and tripped once more along the silent passages. I
knew where Mrs. Lumley slept, and soon reached the door of her room;
audible snores, base and treble, attested, if not the good
consciences, at least the sound digestions of the inmates. I tapped
loudly; no answer. Again I knocked till my knuckles smarted. A sleepy
"Come in" was the reply to my summons. They probably thought it was
the housemaid arrived to open the shutters. It was no time for false
delicacy or diffidence, and I walked boldly into the apartment. By the
light of the night-lamp I beheld the happy pair. Of course, I am not
going to describe the lady's dress; but all I can say is, that if ever
I am prevailed on to marry, and such a catastrophe is by no means
impossible, I shall _not_ permit my husband to disfigure himself at
any hour by adopting such a custom as that of dear, kind, good old Mr.
Lumley.

A white cotton nightcap, coming well over the ears, and tied under the
throat with tape to match, surmounted by a high _bonnet rouge_ like an
extinguisher, the entire headdress being further secured by a broad
black ribbon, would make Plato himself look ridiculous; and a sleepy
old face, with a small turn-up nose, and a rough stubbly chin of
unshaven gray, does not add to the beauty or the dignity of such a
recumbent subject. However, what I wanted was Mr. Lumley; and Mr.
Lumley I was forced to take as I could get him.

"What's o'clock?" he murmured drowsily. "Come again to light the fire
in half an hour."

"Why, it's Kate!" exclaimed his better half, rousi