well; then I wish you a good-night."

"Good-night, brother," replied Nicholas, ascending the stairs as John
Forster entered his room.

Nicholas arrived at the head of the stairs; but his brain was not very
clear. He muttered to himself "I think I'm right--yes, I'm right--the
first door--to the right--yes--that's it," and instead of the room to
the left, where Newton was, he walked into the one to the right, which
appertained to the housekeeper, Mrs Smith.

The old lady was fast asleep. Nicholas threw off his clothes, put out
his candle, and stepped into bed without waking the old lady, whom he
supposed to be his son, and in a few minutes they snored in concert.

The morning dawned. The watchmen (London nightingales) ceased their
notes and retired to their beds. The chimney-sweeps (larks of the
metropolis) raised their shrill cry as they paced along with chattering
teeth. House-maids and kitchen-maids presented their back views to the
early passengers, as they washed off the accumulation of the previous
day from the steps of the front door. "Milk below," (certainly much
below "proof"), was answered by the assent of the busy cooks, when a
knock at the door of Mrs Smith's room from the red knuckles of the
housemaid, awoke her to a sense of her equivocal situation.

At her first discovery that a man was in her bed, she uttered a scream
of horror, throwing herself upon her knees, and extending her hands
before her in her amazement. The scream awoke Nicholas, who, astonished
at the sight, and his modesty equally outraged, also threw himself in
the same posture, facing her, and recoiling. Each looked aghast at
each: each considered the other as the lawless invader; but before a
word of explanation could pass between them, their countenances changed
from horror to surprise, from surprise to anxiety and doubt.

"Why!" screamed the housekeeper, losing her breath with astonishment.

"It is!" cried Nicholas, retreating further.

"Yes--yes--it is--my _dear_ Nicholas!"

"No--it can't be," replied Nicholas, hearing the fond appellation.

"It is--oh yes--it is your poor unhappy wife, who begs your pardon,
Nicholas," cried the housekeeper, bursting into tears, and falling into
his arms.

"My dear--dear wife!" exclaimed Nicholas, as he threw his arms around
her, and each sobbed upon the other's shoulder.

In this position they remained a minute, when Mr John Forster, who
heard the scream and subsequent exclamations,