"At any hour. What," throwing out her hands expressively, "is a guardian
_for_, if it isn't to take care of people?"

The professor gives it up. The heat of battle has overcome him. With a
deep breath he drops into a chair, and begins to wonder how long it will
be before happy death will overtake him.

But in the meantime, whilst sitting on a milestone of life waiting for
that grim friend, what is to be done with her? If--Good heavens! if
anyone had seen her come in!

"Who opened the door for you?" demands he abruptly.

"A great big fat woman with a queer voice! Your Mrs. Mulcahy of course.
I remember your telling me about her."

Mrs. Mulcahy undoubtedly. Well, the professor wishes now he had told
this ward _more_ about her. Mrs. Mulcahy he can trust, but she--awful
thought--will she trust him? What is she thinking now?

"I said, 'Is Mr. Curzon at home?' and she said, 'Well I niver!' So I saw
she was a kindly, foolish, poor creature with no sense, and I ran past
her, and up the stairs, and I looked into one room where there were
lights but you weren't there, and then I ran on again until I saw the
light under _your_ door, and," brightening, "there you were!"

Here _she_ is now at all events, at half-past twelve at night!

"Wasn't it fortunate I found you?" says she. She is laughing a little,
and looking so content that the professor hasn't the heart to contradict
her--though where the fortune comes in----

"I'm starving," says she, gaily, "will that funny little kettle soon
boil?" The professor has lit a spirit-lamp with a view to giving her
some tea. "I haven't had anything to eat since dinner, and you know she
dines at an ungodly hour. Two o'clock! I didn't know I wanted anything
to eat until I escaped from her, but now that I have got _you_,"
triumphantly, "I feel as hungry as ever I can be."

"There is nothing," says the professor, blankly. His heart seems to stop
beating. The most hospitable and kindly of men, it is terrible to him to
have to say this. Of course Mrs. Mulcahy--who, no doubt, is still in the
hall waiting for an explanation, could give him something. But Mrs.
Mulcahy can be unpleasant at times, and this is safe to be a "time." Yet
without her assistance he can think of no means by which this pretty,
slender, troublesome little ward of his can be fed.

"Nothing!" repeats she faintly. "Oh, but surely in that cupboard over
there, where you put the glass, there is something; even bread and
b